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Kanan finds it unnerving that he can hear the grainy mechanically disguised voice projected through Chopper’s antenna but cannot see the person on the other side – however the unseen figure can see him. It’s unnerving and obnoxious that he’s sitting before Chopper, offering to take up the cause while Hera heals and yet he isn’t worth a shady projection of something. He’s never seen Fulcrum’s transmission to Hera and he doesn’t know if experiences are the same.
It’s a question he’s not going to ask because he’s not telling her that he’s doing this.
What kind of a mess are you in, Hera? He thinks to himself for a brief moment then he’s drawn back in by the tinny disembodied voice.
“This is unexpected,” the voice says and it’s flat, there’s no way to determine if they approve of his proposition to be of use or if they’re being sardonic.
Kanan definitely doesn’t like it.
“Hera is down for a few more days,” Kanan says and he feels like it’s the eighteenth way that he’s explained it, “there’s no reason for the people out there to suffer because one of us is down when the other isn’t.”
Silence lingers longer from Chopper and Kanan tries to remain stoic. The last thing he wants to do is piss off Hera’s contacts or whatever this person is while he’s trying to do something good.
“Unexpected,” the voice finally continues, “but not unwelcome. I’ll upload the data to the C1 unit for your review. May the Force Be With You.”
Chopper’s whirring is the indication of data package reception and the transmitter lights on his dome indicate that his ‘You have no idea.’ that he mutters under his breath comes after the transmission has ended.
Kanan pulls up the computer to examine the incoming data and he bristles slightly as he does.
What kind of a mess are you in, Kanan?
-
Hera still looks like crap to him. She’s pale and still feverish and fairly lethargic in the grand scheme of Hera but she claims to feel better when he asks. When she perks herself up just enough to ask exactly where he’s steering her ship, he actually believes that she might be feeling better. Then she betrays her words only a few moments later when she takes the stronger pain tablets when offered her choice of both.
Kanan doesn’t point out the contradiction between words and actions.
“It’s just a supply run,” Kanan assures her as he leaves her comm, more meds, and some water by his bed. Getting into her bunk still hurts and he is content to take his turn on the floor when they do sleep. It’s the least he can do, all things considered. “I’ll be back soon. I already told Chopper to keep an eye on things and he knows to alert me if – “
A grunt to the affirmative disrupts his narrated reasoning and Kanan smiles sadly at her back. He longs to lean over, to kiss that spot between her lekku that seems to calm her and not all at the same time, the spot he used to kiss when he was leaving her bunk in the night yet asking permission to stay. Instead he busies his hands, rearranging the array of things she might need for the fifth time, waiting until her breathing becomes deep and even and he knows that she’s asleep.
Chopper is outside his cabin, electroprod tucked safely away. My organic will need medication and I am not equipped to administer those things.
“I know buddy,” Kanan says, glancing down at the droid. He knows he’s only being spared the droid’s more dubious personality traits because he’s taking care of his organic. Chopper is barely at his heels as he walks down the corridor to the Phantom. “I think it’s suspect that you can handle blasters and not a syringe,” Kanan takes the time to remark, but only when he’s three rungs up the ladder.
You should remember that, hairball.
Kanan grins wryly, There he is. “Make sure you comm me if Hera needs anything. The second she does.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Chopper comes back waving a mechanical arm before closing the hatch from the Ghosts controls.
“Clearly he was done with that conversation,” Kanan says to himself and then settles in his seat and programs the coordinates given to him by Fulcrum. He looses a sigh as he disengages the Phantom and casts his eyes to the icy planet below. “Mygeeto, it’s been a while.”
-
The last time he was on Mygeeto, he was with Master Billaba, sorely outnumbered and in need of reinforcements. This time is no different; the Imperials have sunk their claws in deep on the planet where Master Ki-Adi-Mundi lost his life. Kanan is outnumbered by stormtroopers and memories, in sore need of Hera because being alone here is not his idea of a good time.
Mygeeto isn’t the same as Kaller but the echoes of loss are loud nonetheless.
Kanan kneels from his perch atop a hill just outside what used to be the Hammertong Facility that the Geonosians used to do research on crystals. The information that Fulcrum had sent him made mention that the Empire had taken a strong interest in the facility and some recon was required; nothing drastic. No infiltrations, no data extractions – just some holos and observations of shift rotations.
He's torn between following orders or giving into the urge to push for a little more, to release the pent up energy broiling beneath the surface.
Sinking lower into the snow at the edge of the treeline, he settles on doing the recon first and anything else he wants to do when he has more information, if he does anything else at all. He can't throw himself into the middle of an unknown situation when Hera needs him to get back in one piece. Kanan allows the tactical part of his mind to take over and it's akin to a peaceful meditation; watching the rotations of elite troopers, the transport of heavy durasteel crates that appear to be weapons grade, the every fifteen minute security sweeps of the facility.
Whatever is going on below him is huge and he's thankful for the first time that Hera is too damn sick to function because she’d be the one pushing at this point to do more. She was impulsive like that on Gorse and she’d be just as impulsive here – eager to make a difference without having a solid plan in place. Inaction isn't necessarily his favorite way to handle a situation but he prefers having at least some semblance of a plan before barging into any situation involving Imperials.
Still – this is something different and something he isn't going to do any more than he has been told. That niggling influence of the Force tickles at the back of his mind and he can feel the darkness contained within the grounds below. The Force, he notices as he watches, seems to be more persistently tugging at him and calling to him here on Mygeeto.
It was the last planet that he’d known his place in the galaxy, that he’d accepted the Force without question. He never had the opportunity to understand all the ways of the Force, if it is quiet in forsaken places but louder in others, or any of the other intricacies before the Jedi were slaughtered. He suspected if he had a way to ask that he’d just be answered in questions. Still, the Force was strong to him here and if it helped gain the intel that Fulcrum could use, trying to see beyond the physical barriers would do little harm.
Kanan closed his eyes and reached out before him, beyond the stormtroopers and the base staff – the expendables - and tried to navigate through the hundreds of minds below. It was already a headache, trying to sort through all of the errant thoughts that weren’t his own and he groaned outwardly. “Who am I kidding?” He muttered to himself, his eyes still firmly shut with determination.
Mentally, he pulled back, tried to find his center first.
What he found was something that he’d never expected.
“Ah, there you are, Caleb. I was wondering when my young Padawan would allow me back in.”
Kanan’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the voice, perspiration rapidly developing along his brow despite the bitter chill. At his side, just as she was the last time he was here, stood his Master Depa Billaba not as she was then but in the Force.
“B-but – “ he stammers, falling backward into the snow as takes in the vision and maybe it is, he tells himself – it’s just a vision. He asks anyway, “How?”
Depa smiles and it radiates warmth in his direction, “Still asking questions, I see. Even a power as strong as the Empire that has conquered everything cannot conquer your curiosities.”
That’s definitely her, Kanan thinks but doesn’t say. He had, after all, learned how to be glib from his Master. There’s a million things he wants to ask and he doesn’t even know where to start – the questions start pouring from his brain to his mouth, carried on breaths in short puffs between them. All of the ‘why’ and the ‘how’ and the ‘what’ that he’s been holding onto for years.
She’s still as patient as he remembers, Kanan notices, still and quiet as his mind races aloud. It isn’t until his mind has completely divested itself of all of the things that its been holding onto for years that she finally speaks. She still understands him.
“And what of your heart, Caleb?” The question hearkens to his past but speaks to his present.
There’s another hundred things he could say about the state of his heart but one word is succinct as an answer, “Lost.”
“Indeed,” Depa nods gently, reaches out and lays a luminous hand along his shoulder. Her warmth seeps into his skin and seeks out his soul. “There’s been a lot of changes in the galaxy but in you too, I see. What has become of my Padawan?”
“He died,” Kanan answers and it sounds as angry as it feels, “he died when he ran.”
“That’s unfortunate because my intention was that he lived,” Depa says softly, her hand unmoving. “Are you certain that he died? Or is he scared?”
The words bristle Kanan but he tries not to be defensive, “Shouldn’t I be? Everybody is gone. I’m supposed to be avoiding detection and I’m out here doing things like this.”
“And what is it that you’re doing here, Caleb?”
“Kanan,” he says quietly, “I am not Caleb.”
“What you may change in name, you cannot change in form. You may call yourself whatever you like but I know my Padawan and I know that he’s very much alive as I intended,” Depa’s voice is firm but in that nurturing way of hers that made even a thorough chastising bearable. “Have you forgotten everything I’ve taught you? Or simply buried it away?”
Kanan’s gaze shifts to the ground, the icy blue of the snow and ice mirroring the presence before him, “I may have actively not thought about all of that. Most of it, anyway.”
“And now your heart is lost,” Depa concludes, “that isn’t irony, Caleb.” She emphasizes his name, his real name, and continues, “What is it that you’re doing here?”
“I’m helping somebody,” he answers, and it’s a half-truth because he doesn’t make mention that somebody is everybody to him and that everybody isn’t his anymore. He shuffles slightly through the snow before he catches himself. He’s never been a good liar or partial truth teller.
“Well, I suppose that all of my lessons weren’t lost if you’re helping somebody. Why are you helping them?”
“Because they needed help?” It’s a question to answer a question and such is the Jedi way.
The smile on Depa’s face is knowing and she says Kanan’s name gently, drawing his eyes to hers. “The Force moves through all living things, but it’s especially strong in you, no matter which identity you choose. Yet, you cannot use that strength to conceal the things you feel but – I will ask again, why are you helping them?”
“Her,” he corrects and it’s a sigh as well as an admission.
“My Padawan has come to find love.”
Kanan grimaces slightly, “It’s not the only reason I’m helping.” He feels Master Billaba’s eyes on him and he straightens his spine, “What? It’s not. I’m helping to – help.”
Still she doesn’t answer him, just waits for him to find his own answers.
“Fine. I’m trying to want to help.”
Finally having arrived at the answer that she wanted, Depa smiles and nods, “And why not help just to help? Love is not conditional.”
Kanan sighs softly and runs his palms over his face. He was expecting some echoes of his past when he was sent to this planet – he wasn’t expecting the past to lecture him. “Shouldn’t it be obvious why I don’t just help to help? We’re supposed to avoid detection. The bounty on any remaining Jedi –“ he stammers, “if people were to find out about me, and that she was harboring me – that any of the people I’ve ever known were harboring me? They’d all be killed for it and it would be my fault.”
“This woman that you’re helping, is she a Jedi?” Depa asks Kanan, even though they both know she knows the answer.
Kanan answers anyway, “No.”
“But yet she helps,” Depa says pointedly, “Does she know what you are?”
What I was, Kanan thinks but says this instead, “She knows too much to be safe.”
“And so you’ve chosen to embrace the role of liability instead of Jedi or helper,” the words are harsh but delivered in such a soothing tone that the blow doesn’t land as hard as it should, “because you’re concerned with losing her?”
“Not just her,” he answers and then adds quietly adds, “mostly her.”
Depa continues her gentle guidance, drawing his gaze into her, both hands resting on his arms, “I remember a certain youngling many years ago who found a Master in the same predicament. She had lost nearly everything, was responsible for so many deaths, who feared being a liability to the lives of others – and yet this youngling gave her bravery and strength. He became my Padawan.”
It was too easy to forget that his Master, lost to the brutal slaying of the Jedi, had known loss as extreme as his – such a large part of her batallion and she, one of the few survivors. She'd spent six months lost to the world and in darkness after that - but she found her way back. He hadn't. Kanan found that it was been easier to stay absorbed in his own loss before this moment. Now it just felt foolish.
“Perhaps my Padawan did die on that day,” Depa says softly, “just as I died with my men. The Jedi I became was not the Jedi who was lost. You may not be a Padawan any longer but you will always be a Jedi, Kanan. Just as I told you many years ago, I will tell you now – there will be loss but it mustn’t prevent the true Jedi from taking risks – from surrendering oneself to a higher purpose. That is a lesson I learned from you.”
Inhaling deeply, Kanan mulled over the words. Even though his mind still raced with questions, he found his heart was beginning to find peace in the answer that he needed to accept. “I understand,” he finally said, “what must I do?”
Depa smiled that warm smile of hers, “I cannot give you all of the answers, you must find those on your own. You have everything you need, Kanan. Within you lies the heart of a Jedi – let that lead you wherever it calls.”
Kanan shook his head, “No, I don’t know where to start – there’s…I don’t have – “
“Form follows function,” Depa was already starting to fade before him now, “begin your journey there.”
“And if I need you again?” Kanan asked, desperate to hold onto the dregs of hope he’d ever truly known.
There is a sparkle in her eye as she leaves him, her words lingering where she’d stood only moments before, “The Force will be with you, always.”
-
When Kanan returns to the Ghost, it feels different though nothing has changed except for him. He sets about the mundane tasks that he normally watches Hera attend to, uploading data through Chopper’s one-way port, checking the logs for abnormal diagnostics, and programming coordinates to a fuel depot two sectors away separated by two separate jumps to eliminate their trace within the current system. It’s only when Chopper prods him – without the added voltage – to remind him that he needs to handle Hera’s meds that he considers what’s waiting on the other side of his cabin door.
Chopper had reassured Kanan that she was sleeping when he’d returned and Kanan saw no reason to wake her. She needed the rest and he needed time to process what had happened, what could happen.
She barely stirs when he opens the door, balancing a bowl of rycrit broth, the meds, and a cool cloth in his hands. Idly he wonders how much of her lethargy is side effect of the meds and how much of it is because her body needed that rest, that true reprieve from pain that she'd denied it with the weak stuff.
Kanan lays his hand against her forehead and slides his palm along her cheek. She’s damp with perspiration but her skin is cool beneath and he feels relief that her fever seems to have finally broken. She stirs again when he lays the cool cloth along her brow, gingerly wiping the little beads away. “Just me,” he says softly, “I think your fever broke.”
Hera’s eyes flutter open and only briefly meet his before they slide closed again, heavy with exhaustion, “Feels better.”
“Good,” he answers, his voice as gentle as his touch. He asks permission before exposing just enough of her hip to inject the meds to fight her infection and does the same before he changes her bandage. “It looks a lot better,” he tells her as he tucks her under the blankets that she's been trying to get him to give her for days while chilled with her fever.
Only a little more alert, Hera shifts to her side and their eyes meet again. He finds himself wanting to tell her about Mygeeto, to tell her about taking on the mission, about the things going on in that lab, about Master Billaba - but he doesn’t. Kanan simply reaches out to her and runs the back of his fingers along her temple, disguising a loving touch beneath logical actions of checking for fever one more time.
No.
Kanan won’t tell her about today - the mission or his Master.
He's already decided that he'll show her instead.