Kanan's sky-blue lightsaber slashes through the sequence, seeming to leave a trail behind it in its wake. Images flash before his eyes, and he's back on Kaller.

Black smoke billowed around him, filling the white sky. Excitement and pride filled Caleb as he heard "I like him!" from one of the members of Clone Force 099 behind him. Caleb he had a feeling that serving with this group of clones would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and he fully intended to relish every second of it. His mind overflowed with fantasies of what could lie ahead—battle droids flying as explosions in every color rocked the snow-covered trees, gaining the approval of more members of the Bad Batch, regaling his Master with details of the adventure, Depa Billaba's eyes sparkling with amusement and pride—but couldn't have imagined what the next moment would hold. Through the channel of the Force that linked his mind to his Master's, he felt a thrumming of suspicion; a stab of dread. Suddenly, he recalled a conversation with his Master from the day before. Master Billaba had revealed to him that for the past several days, she had been experiencing a vague feeling that something was going to go wrong."However, we cannot allow our feelings to keep us from doing what must be done, Caleb," she had explained, her copper-tinged eyes earnest. "I will not hold you back from rushing ahead, as you so relish doing. I only ask that you remain aware of what is happening around you." Caleb had inclined his head to her and replied, "Yes, Master. Do you have any idea of what I should look out for?"

"I am not capable of answering any of your questions at this time," she responded gently, amusement glinting in her eyes, as it often did when Caleb voiced one of his many questions. "I know no more than you do. Do not dwell on this, Caleb, but remain vigilant."

All of this he recalled within the space of an instant, as Master Billaba's misgivings rose to the surface of her awareness. The sharp, staccato sound of blaster fire rang out from behind Caleb, as did the smooth whoosh of a lightsaber igniting.

For once in his life, he slowed his pace and stopped. As far as he knew, it was only Master Billaba and her clone regiment standing behind them. Had they been ambushed? No, Caleb realized. It's something else. His Master felt a sting of inexplicable betrayal and a deluge of shock. Questions immediately bubbled up, crowding Caleb's mind, and, for the first time in his memory, he wasn't sure if he wanted to discover their answers.

Nevertheless, he turned to look over his shoulder, and what he saw led his feelings to mirror his Master's.

Master Billaba's battalion was raining blue bolts down upon her as her matching lightsaber whipped to and fro to block them. Shock caused Caleb's questions to evaporate. He watched, dumbfounded, as Master Billaba slashed through Captain Grey's rifle and sent him to the ground with a kick, only to find the rest of the battalion pointing their weapons straight towards her. She was surrounded. Caleb's shock was swallowed up by something far more familiar and far more hated.

The rising, boiling flood of poisonous fear.

It always rose inside of him in situations like this, but it had never been so overwhelming before.

But, as always, Caleb swore to do the opposite of what it commanded. He wouldn't flee. He would run straight into the danger, as he always did.

Well, he always did after he froze up first.

Master Billaba sunk into a defensive position, pointing her lightsaber forward and holding out a hand. She slowly swiveled, ready for any attack. Caleb desperately searched for something that would pull him from the quagmire of fear. He latched onto the desire to protect Master Billaba as she so often had protected him, and his paralysis lifted.

He gasped, "Master," and began to run towards her. His vision tunneled, Caleb's full attention fixed on Master Billaba, on what was happening, on how he could help her. We're outnumbered, he noted, the toxic terror threatening to return at that cold, hard truth. I never realized how many troops we had with us. It never used to feel like enough—now it feels like far too many. He grabbed for a new lifeline on which to escape from the terror, and found determination to get to her side, where he always was—where he belonged—so that at least she wouldn't be alone. Master Billaba and Caleb had faced seemingly insurmountable odds more than once throughout their adventures. Together, we can overcome anything.

As these thoughts whirled through his mind, Caleb's Master continued to turn,—she faced her Padawan now—swirling her lightsaber through the air until it stopped above her head. Her expression seemed to challenge the helmeted soldiers around her, daring any of them to fire the first shot. The clones accepted her challenge and began to pelt her with bolts again. Desperation and horror roiled within Caleb as he yelled, "Master!" and ignited his lightsaber. There was no need to combat fear this time. Anger overwhelmed all other emotions—anger at his legs for failing to move quickly enough, anger towards himself for leaving her at the worst time possible, and, most of all, anger at the clones for turning on the woman who had always fought bravely beside them—but he gritted his teeth against his fury. His Master's voice echoed in his mind as it so often did, "Never let anger guide your actions. A Jedi motivated by anger is no Jedi at all. Letting this emotion control you leads only to disaster—and to the Dark Side." He refocused on his closeness to his Master and his desire to protect her, letting that push him onward instead.

Master Billaba blocked and parried, guarding herself with the incredible skill that had always kept her alive. Caleb continued to rocket forward, his blade swinging in front of him, as his Master's saber danced through the air so quickly that it became a blur. Amidst the chaos, Master Billaba noticed Caleb's approach. Through their link in the Force, Caleb felt her dismay at his presence.

Caleb, stop! His Master commanded him through the Force. Every part of his psyche that wasn't governed by fear screamed for him to keep running, to not waste a single precious second. However, Caleb's desire to please his Master gave him the willpower to force his legs to freeze. He watched, mortified, as Master Billaba devoted every ounce of her focus and energy to staying alive, flipping through the air with amazing agility. To Caleb's horror, however, she then directed all of that focus and energy towards him. Her eyes met his in the most determined and earnest expression she had ever displayed as she cried, "you must run!"

Her command did not register in Caleb's mind. She isn't defending herself! She put herself in danger to warn me!

A clone—Caleb would never know which one—took advantage of this moment. A blaster bolt struck Depa Billaba in the back, and Caleb felt the pain of it just as strongly as she did. Dismay filled him as her body lurched forward. Master Billaba returned to her own defense, but it was too late. Another bolt slammed into her side, transforming into a burst of orange at the impact and forcing a yelp of pain from the Jedi Knight. Her command to him finally sunk in, and Caleb realized that Master Billaba was echoing what his inner coward had been screaming since the clones attacked. He closed his eyes to it, sending his feelings through their link—I can't, Master, no, I won't leave you here, I'll stay with you—as his inner coward and hero battled within him. If he obeyed his Master's command, he was also allowing the fear inside to win.

"Run, Caleb!" she screamed, and the pain and desperation echoing in her voice sparked agony within him. Rising above the agony and inner conflict was one determined thought. All I can do for her now is honor her final wish. I can't let her down now.

He opened his eyes, taking one last look at his beloved teacher, he turned his back on her and ran. Her screams rang out behind, and each second filled with the sounds of her pain seemed to steal away his youth. Worse, though, was that part of him...

felt relieved that he had an excuse to get away.

When he had obeyed his Master, he had also, for the first time in years, given into fear. His Master's command to flee had never stopped him before.

Caleb Dume was a coward.

Kanan's eyes burn, and this jolts him into the present. He blinks, disoriented, and wipes an arm across his face. How long was I out this time? Judging by how fast he's breathing, the throbbing of his arms, and the still-glowing gouges in many of the trees around him, Kanan had subconsciously kept going through his technique sequences during his flashback. Sheathing his lightsaber and looking up into the sky, he is relieved to discover that it still isn't dawn yet. Judging by where the three moons are placed, he couldn't have been out for more than an hour. Since he had already been working through exercises for an hour before then, he'd probably be in for it if he stayed out much longer. Kanan disassembles his lightsaber, shoving the two pieces into the deep pockets of his pants.

"This has got to stop," he mutters to himself, shaking his head, as he begins his trek back to the Ghost. It had taken months for Kanan to fully demolish the walls that had stood in between himself and his past for eight years. But all of that work seems to have done nothing but made his life miserable. Kanan has been plagued by flashbacks and nightmares for months. He hasn't gotten a full night's sleep in a year. A flashback even came in the middle of a mission once, incapacitating him for a time. His guilt at ruining the mission had only made his insomnia worse. Kanan is sometimes filled with anger, often drowning in depression, and nearly always grumpy. I have the right to be grumpy, though. I've allowed himself to fully relive the trauma of my past. I've completely reopened himself to the Force. I've even started practicing with my lightsaber almost every day. And what do I get in return? Torture. Brought on by my own mind.

~

Kanan is still as in love with the Ghost as he has ever been. He's just preoccupied at the moment.

Eight years of traveling in junk piles would make anyone appreciate something decent—and the Ghost is a true beauty. Kanan usually stops to admire it, but today, his mind is too busy roiling with old memories, present frustrations, and worries about the future to appreciate anything. Kanan realizes he's made it inside of the Ghost, but he doesn't remember how he got there. He heads toward the control board to close the Ghost's entry ramp—which he'd left open...the whole time he was gone...probably not the best idea—but stops short below the ladder that leads into levels above. All thoughts, worries, fears and frustrations flee from his mind. Spilling down through the passage above comes the most beautiful sound Kanan Jarrus has ever heard.

Singing.

Besides crooning in the bars he visited during his years of wandering, Kanan hasn't heard real singing...ever, really. Nothing like this. Everything surrounding him seems to melt away, as the words, which Kanan only now realizes that he can't understand, swirl through the air, soulful and sweet. The deep, low notes soar upward into softer, higher ones. Chills ripple over him. Footsteps and the clinking of tools from above only seem to harmonize with the melody. The song reaches a longing, wistful end, and Kanan's inner being protests, because the silence left seems painfully loud.

But, to his delight, the song starts anew, now in Kanan's native tongue and accent. The song speaks of confident hope, enduring joy, fierce love, and light brighter than that of a new dawn.

Kanan is more prepared for its conclusion this time, but the silence it leaves still feels empty and suffocating. Clanging sounding from the cockpit interrupts the silence, followed by a familiar noise of frustration. Music still echoes in Kanan's mind as the sounds of movement draw closer. Humming to herself, the source of the magical voice drops down into the loading bay, her lekku streaming behind her.

Hera.

She lights up a room like no one else can. At least, from Kanan's point of view.

She notices Kanan as she scans the room searchingly, and her vibrant, blue-green eyes widen, startled. "Kanan," she greets him in that voice of hers, which currently sounds a bit breathless with surprise. She places her hands on her hips and fixes him with a resigned, suspicious expression, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms. "How long have you been standing there?"

Kanan shakes his head, trying to clear his mind yet again, and calls up a sly smile. "Long enough to know you've been holding out on me. How come I've never heard you sing before?"

Hera has one of those faces that can speak volumes through the tiniest shifts in expression. She's clearly a little annoyed at being eavesdropped on, but there's a tinge of amusement to it—and maybe a bit of embarrassment, too?

I'm just imagining things.

"I only sing when I'm alone," she tells him, raising an eyebrow. "Or when I think I'm alone."

Kanan raises his hands innocently. "Yeah, you know, it was wrong of me to walk into the ship I live on without announcing myself. You could've put up a sign or something."

Hera rolls her eyes. "Well, there certainly isn't anything I can do about it now."

Kanan winks at her. "Am I thankful for that."

She shakes her head at him, sending her lekku dancing again, but Kanan dutifully keeps his eyes from focusing on them. Not everyone knows the significance of looking at or touching a Twi'lek's lekku, even eye contact, but Kanan, determined to respect Hera in any way he can, made sure to educate himself. He respects Hera more than anyone else in the galaxy—and the last thing he wants is make her feel uncomfortable or devalued.

In that moment of silence, Kanan feels his heavy burden of frustration, doubt, and fear return. Though, to his knowledge, his expression doesn't change, Hera seems to sense the shift in him, her eyebrows drawing together in concern. She's always been more skilled at sensing others' emotions than Kanan is, and she doesn't even use the Force. He'd wondered for a time if this talent came from the Force and he'd simply failed to sense it in her, but no. Kanan had always been able to sense it when someone was capable of utilizing the Force. Hera just possesses remarkably strong empathy. She's always willing to care for those who need her, the first in a group to respond when someone is hurting, the first to notice when someone is experiencing something difficult. Kanan wonders just how much she understands about his own struggles, even though he's never once complained about them. She never asks questions. He appreciates that more than words can describe...though he hasn't tried to describe it to her.

~

I'm concerned about Kanan.

But what else is new?

As a little girl, Hera had learned to trust her feelings when it came to assessing someone's true character. But she had initially misread Kanan. For the first time in her memory, she'd misjudged someone's true character.

Well, there'd been a few other exceptions. But those didn't have to do with anything.

She'd given up on Kanan after only a few minutes of observing his behavior on Cynda. Fortunately for her and for the Rebellion, he'd turned out to be much more thanhe seemed. She often wondered what would have happened if they hadn't later crossed paths on the streets...though she suspected that Kanan himself had played a larger role in their meeting than fate had. If they hadn't met, it could have cost her and her fellow revolutionaries a valuable asset.

Kanan's lightness, much rarer these days than when he had first joined her crew, faded in an instant to be replaced by his usual weighed-down look. Hera wonders what had caused the momentary good mood. His smile had been so carefree that she had hardly recognized him. Kanan has had terribly dark circles underneath his eyes for...who knows how long now. He's been growing thinner by the week, though they've had more access to food lately than they have in the past. Though Kanan's kept up their usual banter in conversation, she can see the pain and exhaustion hidden in his eyes. Hera knows that something in his mysterious past must be what's bothering him. Though it pains her to stand by and watching anyone suffer, it's clear to see that any attempt to help him would crash and burn.

But maybe not. She's been wrong about him before.

As Hera watches the light in Kanan's face disappear, her heart twinges with the familiar desire to help. She finally pushes aside the assumption that her help is unwanted and begins gently, "Kanan...I can tell that you've been battling something for a while now." His face immediately becomes stony, and a barrier between them goes up in his eyes. Hera's first instinct is to accept the rejection and become quiet, but she's done watching his downward spiral and doing nothing about it. Even if he rejects my help, at least I tried. She continues, trying to show her sincerity through each syllable, "I understand that you'd rather not open up about it. I'm willing to respect that. Just know that you don't have to deal with this alone."

Kanan casts his gaze to the floor, his expression now fully closed-off. "I appreciate the offer, but..." He shakes his head. "This is my issue to deal with. I'm strong enough to overcome this." He's telling himself that as much as he's telling me.

"Strength isn't determined by your ability to stand alone. The greatest kind of strength comes when people stand together."

Kanan presses his lips together. "I don't think that that applies in this situation."

Hera looks at him for a moment, missing the gunslinging, cocky, flirtatious Kanan that she's seen less and less of these days. But if this is who he's becoming, she won't selfishly wish that he's something he's not. "If you ever change your mind...I'm here," Hera assures him, looking straight into his aquamarine eyes to communicate her sincerity. The Jedi nods in understanding.

~

Kanan had a feeling he'd be spending a lot of time in the copilot's chair, but there's nowhere else he'd rather be. The pilot's chair was Hera's alone. She'd clearly missed her ship dearly and seemed to glow with pride as she showed him the ship's controls. He was already looking forward to seeing her face light up every time she entered the cockpit. "We've used seventy-six illegal upgrades so far. We like to think of it as another way to rebel against the Empire."

Kanan's mood shifted as she spoke, his hackles rising. "We?"

At that exact moment, the sound of ancient wheels squeaking accompanied by panicked squawking came from the hallway outside of the cockpit. Kanan didn't have time to prepare himself before an orange-streaked blur zoomed in and jabbed him with an electro-shock prod. Stunned, Kanan dropped to the floor, his vision going black. "Chopper!" Kanan heard Hera yell indignantly as he lay there, temporarily paralyzed. Or, at least, he hoped it was temporary. Frenzied squawking blared above Kanan. "I let you know I'd picked up a new recruit hours ago!" Hera insisted.

Through the fuzziness in his brain brought on by the electric shock, Kanan realized that it was a droid that was conversing with the pilot.

The droid protested defensively. "You know better than to power down while I'm gone!" Hera responded, incensed. "Why weren't you fully charged when I left?"

Hera's responses to the droid were all that Kanan could process.

"That's no excuse!"

"How can you already dislike him? You stunned him before having a chance to chat!"

"You say that about everyone."

"Yeah, yeah, everyone but me."

"And I appreciate that, Chop. But you know I can handle myself and wouldn't endanger either of us like that."

"No, but you are going to keep working at upgrading the navicomputer."

"I know you and the computer don't get along, but you know how helpful that would be in our efforts."

"I don't want to hear it. You should be thankful I'm not making you clean up the oil leak after what you just pulled!"

Kanan's vision slowly started to return, and he groaned. He attempted to sit up, then felt a gentle hand against his back. Kanan tried not to show how her touch thrilled him. Blurs of orange, green, and grey filled his vision. Shaking his head and blinking, he remarked, "you should put a restraining bolt on that thing."

The droid was blatantly outraged at that.

"Relax, Chop, I'm not planning on taking that piece of advice," Hera assured the astromech.

Everything slowly came back into focus, including the source of all of the jabbering, which turned out to be a hilariously old, dingy astromech unit with an orange head, grasping arms braced in a clear expression of offense. It almost seemed like an imitation of Hera's the hands-on-hips pose. The droid's electro-shock prod was still extended, though it wasn't sparking with light. The astromech seemed to point it threateningly at Kanan's face. It beeped disapprovingly. Hera, who knelt at Kanan's side, rolled her eyes. "Kanan Jarrus, this is C1-10P, or Chopper. He's a veteran of the Clone Wars, so you have that in common. Chop, meet Kanan, the newest member of our crew." Hera had made her aversion to the term "traveling companion" very clear, referring to Kanan only as a crew member. He didn't care, as long as he was along for the ride. He'd been looking forward to uninterrupted time with her, as their adventures on Gorse and Cynda hadn't left much time for that. Just his luck that Hera would own a loudmouthed droid that already seemed to have it out for him.

Chopper seemed just as unenthused as Kanan.

"If I said "nice to meet you," I'd be lying," Kanan told the astromech.

"Sorry about my droid," Hera apologized before Chopper could respond. "It's just been him and I for years, and since he missed my message that I sent him earlier, he wasn't expecting to hear an unfamiliar voice."

The droid beeped inquisitively. Kanan was able to understand most astromechs, but this one spoke in a language so antiquated and garbled that he wasn't able to fully translate it. He'd never heard a droid so expressive, though, so he didn't really need to fully decipher the noises to get the gist. "Yes, it is too late for that," Hera replied to the astromech. She gave Kanan a conspiratorial and slightly apologetic smile, then placed a hand on Chopper's dome, her other hand still on Kanan's back. "Kanan's with us now."

~

It was too much to hope that Chopper would mellow over the next two years, but he had grown more used to Kanan.

The tense, slightly awkward silence between Kanan and Hera is interrupted by the astromech's obnoxious squawking. It was inevitable, muses Kanan. Hera, who's clearly been deep in thought for the past few moments, arms crossed and brow furrowed, shakes her head slightly and turns to her astromech. "There you are, Chopper. I need you in the cockpit; I've done some routine maintenance and need you to talk to the computer."

"But Mom, the computer's angry at me," the droid complained. "I told it that it wasn't so smart if it couldn't refuel the Ghost by itself, and now it won't talk to me!"

Throughout the two years in which Kanan had traveled alongside the duo, he'd learned to fully understand the droid's garbled language, with some help from the captain, who understood the droid on a level Kanan couldn't hope to ever match. The bond between the two was so strong that Kanan sometimes felt like an intruder or outsider. Feeling that way compared to a droid was a strange experience.

Hera rolled her eyes skyward. "Well, tell the computer that I say it's smarter than any other computer I've met, and that my opinion's what matters."

"Excuse me, mine matters, too!"

"I didn't say yours doesn't matter, Chop, but as far as I know, you aren't the one in charge here."

"Sometimes I wish I was," the droid grumbles as he boosts himself into the cockpit.

"What was that?" Hera calls accusingly after him, though Kanan suspects she'd heard just fine.

"Nothing!" Chopper sang as he flew off. Kanan found it strange at first that Hera always treated Chopper as a member of the crew, equal to herself and Kanan. The droid even got a code name, Spectre 03. Kanan had come up with the code name, "Spectre," to go along with theme of spirit-related terms. He and Chopper both had wondered why Kanan was named Spectre 01, when he was the most recent addition to the crew. Unsurprisingly, Chopper had been more vehement about it than Kanan had. Kanan still hadn't asked about it. Chopper's questions hadn't yielded any answers, so he doubted his would. When Hera had once placed both hers and Kanan's lives on Chopper being able to take down the guns on a Star Destroyer, that was the last straw. "That grease bucket doesn't even know how to use basic decency!" Kanan had exclaimed. "You act like he's just as capable and trustworthy as a being, but he's just a droid! Who says he won't just turn around and let us get shot down?" As someone who'd experienced and fought in the Clone Wars, Kanan had experienced some pretty terrifying stuff. But the sheer fright he had felt when Hera had fixed him with her glare, which was somehow both red-hot and ice-cold, led him to decide that her wrath was something he intended to avoid at all costs. "That's my droid you're trash-talking," she'd growled, pointing a finger straight at Kanan's face, sea-green eyes blazing. Her voice's pitch and volume had begun to rise as she continued. "And this is also my ship. So if you won't treat Chopper with some 'basic decency,' then you can get off of it!"

After that, Kanan took up the belief that if Hera Syndulla walked right up to the Emperor himself and gave him a piece of her mind, he'd surrender then and there. Her ability to strike fear in the hearts of men--or any being--rivaled any Star Destroyer.

"Once Chop finishes the maintenance, we'll be good to go," the currently placid Hera tells Kanan. She raises an eyebrow, that caring look still shining in her eyes—strange how someone could be capable of both such fierce anger and such genuine kindness—urging him to melt and spill all of his secrets. But he feared what kind of side effects might follow if he did. "You ready?" she asks.

"Ready and waiting," he salutes her.