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“He looks so much like him, don’t you think, Hera?”
Hera hadn’t expected the question to stir the silence that she, Zeb, Sabine, Chopper and little Jacen were stuck in. It almost made her jump from how deep she was invested in her thoughts. And playing it back in her mind what her Lasat companion just said to her made Hera feel queasy. Jacen began to coo and Hera quickly averted her eyes from her child, her son, Kanan’s son . It cut deeper than it should have. What mother is guilty of their child’s existence?
Zeb wasn’t wrong - Jacen did look an awful lot like Kanan.
And that’s what hurt the most.
She couldn’t find the words and simply hummed in response a few moments later, gently bouncing the bundled up baby in her lithe arms. Hera knew this day would come eventually but she never knew it would be this hard. When she first saw Jacen open his big blue eyes, that was it for her; the tears wouldn’t stop for a second, at least until Sabine brought her about. Everyone knew that it was a long time coming, from the moment Hera sadly announced her sudden pregnancy to her dead lover. Sabine and Zeb tried their hardest to bring her around, to comfort her as best as they could, all while trying not to remind her of the events of Lothal’s Liberation. Ezra was gone and Kanan was dead. Even Zeb had to fly halfway across the galaxy to console her when she needed it most because who would? Who would fill the shoes of the mighty Jedi Knight Kanan Jarrus? Sabine was there for Hera more, but she had other matters on Krownest to tend to. The rebels around Yavin base were supportive, as best as they could be to the estranged general. But they weren’t enough and they didn’t care enough, not like Kanan would. Not like Kanan.
She knew that she’d have to face the music at some point or another. And when she brought her gaze back to her gorgeous son with his grabby little hands, Hera had to physically refrain from crying again, she wouldn’t start weeping, her eyes were already red raw and too sore for her liking.
Zeb had to step outside for a moment and when he returned, he came with the news that Kallus needed him for something on Lira San and that he had to leave effective immediately. So he went. Sabine stayed by Hera’s side, at least until sundown when she started to get tired and the Twi’lek had to order Sabine to return to the Ghost and get some rest. She wouldn’t have her crewmates end up pushing themselves for her. Not on her watch. And then - well and then - it was just Hera and Jacen. Hera, Jacen and those wicked thoughts in Hera’s mind.
So Jacen cooed again and Hera found herself at a loss. Like she had been for the past few hours.
The medics and the midwife on site decided that Hera was fit enough to leave and go back to base after a day and a half of medical tests and all sorts to make sure Jacen was healthy and ready to be whisked away. He was an incredibly healthy baby, which warmed Hera’s heart for the most part. Except for when the dawning realisation hit and that was the moment she set foot on the cold ramp of the Ghost.
Her life would be empty and full at the same time. Jacen would grow up fatherless, something Hera did have the luxury of and it’s not like Hera could chalk it off to a horrible father figure. Kanan didn’t leave her, he died. So when she came back to an empty spaceship with a baby in her arms, since Sabine had left before to go back to Krownest, the Twi’lek wanted to just give up and crawl into Kanan’s bunk and never wake up. She slumped down against the wall of the cargo bay and cradled her child close, empty, empty was all she would ever be without her Jedi to guide her.
Hera sank into her seat further and shakily sighed to herself, her eyes back on Jacen, as she looked upon him with an odd emotion she couldn’t quite pin. It was somewhere between guilt, disappointment but unconditional love no matter what. Sighing again, but this time longer, Hera reached out to caress her baby’s head of green hair, smiling painfully as she did.
“He would’ve loved you.”
Jacen was fast asleep at this point, his button nose scrunching up as he slept. The crinkle of his eyes only made Hera smile more, even if it wasn’t a true smile of happiness. All seemed different. Silent. Even the quiet mechanical whir of Chopper’s motors could be heard coming up onto the ramp. Hera raised her head to see the only one who had been by her side throughout it all, through thick and thin and from hell and back - C1-10P. He began to beep softly, wheeling over to the two Syndullas.
“I know, Chop, I know,” Hera told her droid, “At least I have you, right?” Chopper wheeled in closer and bleeped another soft beep, almost practically nuzzling Hera. She laughed for the first time in a long time. It was a laugh of surprise no less. Hera soon closed her eyes and caved in on Chopper, using him for support as she no longer had the energy to stay upright.
The astromech beeped quietly, gently, offering his words of care in the form of binary. And while his chassis was cold, hard and metallic, Hera found a warmth inside just by being there with him. Kanan’s death hurt him too, Hera knew this. Chop struggled to go his usual lengths of pranking and wasn’t nearly as mean and mischievous as he used to be. Hera only guessed Ezra’s disappearance hurt Chopper too, of course it did, it hurt everyone. The Ghost would never be the same. Ever.
Hera would climb up to her feet after what felt like hours of sitting with her faithful companion and would wander into the hallway leading to the cockpit. It felt ever-stretching, a vastness that could never be filled, an echo too loud for her liking. The stillness of it all made her sick to the stomach. There was no hiss of doors, no clambering of objects beyond them, no bickering, no laughing, nothing .
Her head span.
It wouldn’t stop her, she had to go. Without even giving Kanan’s bunk a glance, Hera entered the cockpit and collapsed in her chair with Jacen. It didn’t take long for Chopper to follow by, manning his station behind Sabine’s seat.
How long would it take before any slight mention of him no longer made her eyes well? How long would it take before she no longer wanted to break down and cry at the scent of him? How long would it take for that scent to disappear? How many— how long— how coulds and how woulds—
Hera jolted up, a cold ripping through her very body, a weight, all too heavy, on her arm, trailing up to her shoulder, where she could’ve sworn she felt a hand. And when she whipped around, there was nothing. Chopper was still stationary, silence emanating from him and the room, the subtle grumble of the ship paired with Hera and Jacen’s breathing were the only things she could hear. She wanted to laugh at the notion of it, of imagining things, something Hera never did. She was perceptive, never hearing things that weren’t there in the first place. Whenever Ezra and Zeb would come to her in the middle of the night saying, swearing that there was a womprat scuttering about in their room, she’d always be the first to debunk it and reassure the kids that everything was fine, normal. Sometimes, in the earlier days, Sabine would wake with a scream, a nightmare, adamant that the Empire were outside of the Ghost, ready to drag her back to the Imperial Academy kicking and screaming. Hera would sit with her, for hours, for however long it took, she’d be by her side. She’d run her hands through Sabine’s hair and tell her that everything would be okay. No one would get to her, no one would drag her back, not on Hera’s watch. And the nightmares started becoming less and less frequent.
She couldn’t believe it herself when she felt the weight on her shoulder, for some part of her swore that it was Kanan. It never could be. Ezra was far, but Kanan was farther. He didn’t have the chance or choice of coming home and returning to their family. He only remained in their memories. In the early days after Kanan’s passing, Hera had a habit of telling herself that when she’d wake up, she’d be right next to him, her Jedi protector, her beloved. That he had been here all along. It took time and effort to work past it and even still, those feelings came flooding back like the heatwaves of Ryloth. As though it was all for nothing.
And of course it wasn’t, she had Jacen and was surrounded by caring friends and family. Father had been particularly helpful during the rough patches. He’d come pick up Hera and take her to the refurbished estate to let her relax for a bit. Hera supposed he was making up for lost time, but she never complained once. Their bond had gotten stronger throughout it all, and Kanan was right all along when he said that ‘through death, comes life.’
Jacen.
He was the life that came through death, the light at the end of Hera’s seemingly never-ending dark tunnel. She would cherish that light, for light brought joy. Looking down at him then reminded Hera of what she fought for, what she had lost many good allies, friends and family doing — the future. A future where war wasn’t rampant, where children could have a normal childhood without loss and pain (something Hera had long yearned for), where you could sit at the dining table with your family and not worry when the next strategy meeting was going under way. Hera and the rest of the Alliance worked to see that future come to be, and she’d be damned if she didn’t make Jacen’s life a good one. The war was still going on, children still suffered and families still hurt. But Hera could swear that when she looked into Jacen’s eyes for the first time, she’d see brighter days after the countless dreary nights.
It’s what Kanan would’ve wanted in the end.