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Staring up at the ceiling of her bunk with her hands folded on her stomach and lekku tense along her sides, Hera sighs in frustration over the fine mess she’s found herself in.
Things like love and relationships have never really interested her but this thing she has—or had—with Kanan isn’t a relationship but it’s also more than a partnership. Kanan may have started out as her crew but at some point he became her best friend—at least, he was; now she doesn’t know what they are. They aren’t in love and really, even if they hypothetically were or are or might someday be, what is with the need of putting a stupid label on it?
She’s always known that he’s had feelings for her and that those feelings have only gotten stronger over time, not that he’s ever tried to keep it a secret. That isn’t exactly the problem and it’s never been the problem. The issue is that she’s an idiot and decided that she could act on the things she might feel for him, those things that do not need labels, without repercussions. If she’d been thinking—and there was definitely no thinking involved, except for maybe how to get Kanan’s pants off—when all of that happened, everything wouldn’t be messed up now.
Of course, it didn’t help that he picked that particular moment in time to start using his brain. If he would have just kept his mouth shut, or open and otherwise occupied would have been good too, he would have come to the realization that actions speak louder than words rather than ruining everything by declaring some stupid need for her to spell it all out. Maybe he would have figured out that yes, she does have feelings for him, and figured out what it meant on his own time.
Why is saying all of this banthashit out loud a requirement? What intergalactic imbecile came up with that rule?
Groaning, Hera throws her arm over her face.
Rehashing the events of that night is not going to repair what she broke. Putting it out of her mind, she does her best to focus on the facts as they presently stand. First, things haven’t gone back to normal. Second, he’s clearly avoiding her. Finally, the chill between them does justify her decision to turn up the environmental controls by two degrees.
Okay, she might have done the last one as a weak attempt to bait him into talking to her.
While she’s being truthful with herself, she decides to acknowledge the fact that she has been avoiding him too but only because giving him space seemed like the right thing to do.
Obviously since they’re still only barely tolerating each other’s existence, she’s wrong about all of it, leaving her to lie in her bunk trying to come up with a plan to make things normal again when she should be doing something more productive to her cause. The whole thing is wrong; she’s supposed to come up with the ideas and Kanan is supposed to make the plan. On occasion his plans are incredibly stupid and she has no problem telling him as much, but it was her plan that got them into this mess so it only seems fitting that she comes up with the strategy to get them out of their current situation.
Finally, she arrives at the decision that it’s not really interfering with the mission when her crew isn’t operating at the ideal level of performance; she’s just being a good leader.
If she spends enough time telling herself that trying to mend their friendship is what a good Captain would do, she’ll eventually believe it. Not even a moment later, she decides that it doesn’t matter whether or not this is what a good Captain would do. She’s doing this because she misses her best friend.
Hera has to do this because after everything, Kanan deserves at least that much from her.
During Kanan’s first few weeks aboard the Ghost, when he first became a part of her crew, Hera cursed the too-narrow corridors of her ship, how the normally spacious cockpit suddenly seemed diminutive, and the way that engine room seemed to rise in temperature by at least ten degrees when the two of them were working together. As she became more accustomed to his presence on board she never really stopped noticing those things, they were simply obvious for other reasons. Now she’s all too happy to put those cramped spaces of her ship to use for a good cause.
Living with another person in such close quarters, one tends to become familiar with every aspect of their crewmate’s schedule. If said crewmate had adjusted his routine in an attempt to minimize encounters with his Captain it would be incredibly difficult to conceal but there were also ways of easily dealing with those adjustments. Kanan was an excellent first mate and handled instruction well; moreover, he always seemed to take comfort in having something to do with his time. Finding extra jobs for Kanan to do meant that she had an excuse to share the once loathsome close quarters with him and that her ship would be in optimal condition for any unexpected events.
Hera waits only somewhat impatiently for the lighting aboard to shift to the ambience of the night cycle and then she makes her move. Kanan has been isolating to his cabin during the day, coming out to work on his tasks only after she’s taken to her quarters for the night. With a vibrospanner in her hands and a smile that she fights to hold back, she creeps down the corridor (probably unnecessary) and activates the controls to her door. Rather than stepping inside, she moves out of the proximity module’s sight and waits until the door closes.
Just as she planned, Kanan steps out of his cabin and bumps right into her.
Perfect.
Acting as though she’s surprised, Hera raises her hand to steady herself against the broad plane of his chest, the action coming naturally to her although it was absolutely pre-planned. What she’s not expecting is the flutter in her chest when she feels the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her palm or the way that her breath catches in her throat. When she lifts her eyes to meet his gaze, she has to swallow hard, her mouth suddenly feeling as though she hasn’t had a drink for days.
With her hand still pressed against his chest, she forgets the words she had perfectly planned out. “S-sorry,” she stammers out. “I wasn’t expecting—”
Of course she was expecting him; they’ve been dancing around each other and on the opposite sleep shift for a month. What kind of idiot plan is this? What is she thinking? Now she can’t even remember what she’s supposed to say and she’s standing there like a nerf, fingers curled into his chest, and gripping a vibrospanner she had no real purpose for.
Kanan cocks an eyebrow in silent question and glances down at the vibrospanner in her hand.
“Was just going to work on some routine stuff in the engine room,” Hera explains lamely. She has a plan—had a plan—and losing her cool is definitely not part of it.
Wordlessly, Kanan reaches up to pull her hand away from his chest, the gentle gesture causing her heart to ache. Once he’s reestablished the distance between them, he takes the vibrospanner from her hand and walks away. Does it mean anything that she could feel his heart rate increase against her hand?
Will he ever give her a chance to ask?
In evaluating her previous plan, Hera decides that if she can ever get her formerly mouthy first mate to start running his trap again that she’ll never give him crap for his plans ever again. Although, to be fair, she’s not supposed to be making the plans so she decides to give herself a bit of a break. Tactics is his responsibility so she’s technically justified in her critical evaluations of his designs; she’s simply going to give him a break because since he’s come aboard she doesn’t have to make plans anymore—
—and because she has no idea how to apologize like a normal person would.
That’s also why she’s already come up with a new plan.
The first plan wasn’t imperfect, she decided. For a moment, the distance between them was gone, and that old and familiar warmth they once shared found its way into the scant space between them. Hera knows that she felt the beat of his heart steadily increasing just like her own. If her plan had been more complete, maybe that pained look wouldn’t have dulled the sparkle of his blue-green eyes and the ship wouldn’t be so quiet anymore. Her impatience for everything to just be normal again is what led to the failure of her plan.
Hera learned a long time ago that recriminations of her failed plans were nothing more than a waste of time. Outside of her impatience being an issue, she’d obviously forgotten to account for the measures they’d taken to avoid each other. It was only logical that Kanan would take the vibrospanner from her and attend to the completely made up maintenance in the engine room—she’d been awake all day and he had not.
The first thing she needed to do was get them back on the same schedule.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, taking a simple recon mission dirtside that would last the better part of the week. There was no need for fake identities, false pretenses, or fancy clothing that would leave them both thinking all of the wrong things. They would spend their nights obscured in the thickly forested perimeter outside of an Imperial installation and take holos for Fulcrum.
Kanan reads over the mission objectives on the datapad as Hera stands over him. For a job with such sketchy intel, the debrief is entirely too long, but it works to her advantage. After he comes to the fourth page, she brings one hand up to rest against his shoulder while leaning over to point out the hours of suspicious activity with the other. She swears she can feel his muscles relax for a moment but then they tense and she backs off, decidedly not going to mess up this time. Instead, she walks around to the opposite side of the dejarik table, giving him the space that she wishes he didn’t want.
This plan is going to work. It has to. Things have to go back to the way they were.
After he puts the datapad down, he rubs his palms over his face—a gesture that looks more frustrated than weary.
“It says in the intel that there are no physical threats. Why do you need me?” he asks, his eyes focused on the dark screen of the datapad.
Because I’ll always need you, she wants to say.
“No known physical threats,” she says instead. “Nobody has been sent out to do any extensive recon at night, at least not yet. On the surface, it just looks like another factory but Fulcrum thinks—”
“I read what Fulcrum thinks,” he cuts her off. Painfully palpable silence lingers between them before he lets out a heavy sigh. “When do we get there?”
“Three days,” Hera mumbles, looking away from him. “If you don’t want to get involved, I can have Chop—”
“It’s fine.”
Kanan leaves her alone in the lounge, arms wrapped around herself and gaze still fixed on the ground.
None of this is fine.
Staring up at the ceiling of her bunk with her hands folded on her stomach and her lekku stiff along her side, Hera sighs in frustration over the mess that she can’t get out of.
Nothing she does is working. She’s tried everything she can think of: eliminating the space between them in the cramped corridor, little touches that linger for only a moment, hours spent in the dark at each other’s side—nearly all of them silent. Coaxing him into the engine room to help her with something that either one of them could have done independently did nothing. Passing commentary about the expiration date on the ration bars didn’t result in Kanan spontaneously deciding to make dinner. In a move that only the galaxy’s biggest idiot would make, she even tried innuendo; not her brightest move considering what started this disaster in the first place.
This isn’t the reason she came to bed.
Hera has resigned herself to the fact that she doesn’t know how to fix what is broken. Even if she were to confess that she has some sort of feelings for him, Kanan would likely think it simple pity at this point. Or worse, he wouldn’t believe her. Worse still was the possibility that he would believe her and expect her to try to put a label on those emotions. Why did she think that mission was a good idea? What the hell was she thinking when she decided that she could just tear off her clothes and expect him to treat her like any other girl he’s met in a cantina when he’s never treated her like that?
The nights have been long but the days have been longer. Her attempt at getting them back on the same schedule and thereby the same page only resulted in a fantastic inability to sleep for weeks and a hyperawareness of Kanan moving about the ship. Tonight, he’s unusually still. Even on the nights where she hasn’t left him a laundry list of items to check up on, she’s noticed that he’s mulling about for hours like he doesn’t want to be left alone to his thoughts either.
This isn’t the reason she came to bed.
Sleep still eludes her and thoughts still plague her and knowing she needs sleep isn’t going to stop the constant barrage of anxieties about whether or not there’s anything she can do to get him back. There’s a small voice, one that she hasn’t been able to successfully silence, that asks her if telling him the truth on that night would have resulted in something worse than what she’s facing right now. How could telling him that she felt something for him—wanted him even—be worse than sleepless nights and silent days?
Would he have wanted that definition she feared or would he have been content to know that his love for her wasn’t unrequited?
A softer sigh pushes past her parted lips and Hera gives up on the notion of sleeping. At least her datapad has files to be reviewed and there are reports to be written. Tonight, she has something to busy her mind. After she climbs out of her bed, Hera settles on making a mug of caf before getting to work and opens the door to her cabin. She glances anxiously in the direction of the cockpit and then the lounge to find the corridor empty before heading toward the galley.
The last thing that she wants is for Kanan to think she’s onto a new plan, at least not until she has a new one in place.
When the galley door opens, she finds Kanan standing in front of the caf machine. She frowns when she sees that he looks like she feels; broad shoulders sagging, hands braced against the countertop as if to steady himself, head hanging low. This isn’t how they’re supposed to be and seeing him now, she realizes that it’s exhausting for both of them.
Out of all the things that she’s tried, the little plans she’s come up with, there’s only one thing left to do.
Hera needs to tell him the truth.
With a velvet tread that isn’t necessary—he’s always known when she’s in the same room as him without looking—she comes to his side. Her hands come to rest on the countertop in front of her, only a couple of centimeters from his. The closeness isn’t intentional, not another one of her attempts at letting touch act as a poor substitute for the words she’s so bad at using. When he tenses, she closes her eyes, feeling that now-familiar ache in her heart start to intensify.
Instead of pulling away or giving him space, Hera leans her head against his shoulder. He’s still tense but he doesn’t break away so she doesn’t either. Instead, she allows herself to fully relax against him.
“I miss my best friend,” she says softly.
It’s only a whisper of the truth but it’s the first real thing she’s done to apologize, to bridge the impossible distance between them. The quiet continues to linger between them and Hera finds herself trying to find the words, some sort of words, to make this right because everything is wrong without him, and then—
“Me too,” he exhales, his head coming to rest atop hers.
And just like that, everything is alright again.