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Hera’s breath is hot against his neck, her slow and shallow exhalations landing just below his earlobe to send a shiver down his spine. Sweat trickles down his brow to follow that same path, the sensation not unlike the light graze of a fingernail teasing his flesh. With their bodies molded so perfectly together, he wonders if he can feel his heart racing against hers.
Kanan wonders if her heart is racing for the same reason but he highly doubts it.
They are, after all, in the galaxy’s smallest supply closet and hiding from somebody. Although he’s never been to Ryloth, he’s positive that today is the hottest day the system has ever experienced, especially when Hera is sweating. This is the frustrating fuckery that makes him crazy; one minute, she says she misses her best friend and then the next they’re doing some secret banthashit that she refuses to explain. He’s her best friend but that title apparently doesn’t come with trust.
Whatever it is that they’re doing, he’s not allowed to have the details because it’s classified. As far as he can tell, classified means that they’re sweating their asses off in the galaxy’s tiniest supply closet, and she’s making it all worse because she’s pressing every good part of her body against every part of his body while she’s trying to strip out of her clothes because she can’t take the heat.
Obviously she doesn’t realize his dick is about to fall off.
It’s fine. It’s not like he’s using it anyway.
“I don’t suppose that you’re going to tell me who we’re running from yet?” he asks through gritted teeth, doing his best to ignore the shift of her hips against his. There’s never been a day in his life that his dick hasn’t done the thinking for him but today, just this one day, he’s trying to convince his dick to let his brain handle this predicament.
It’s not really listening.
“I can’t believe how easily Human men get wound up over nothing,” she replies.
And that’s a no, Kanan, I'm not going to tell you who we're running from if she's talking about his dick instead.
Withholding a groan, he leans back into the wall. “Twenty credits says that you’re just as wound up as I am, sweetheart.”
“Am not,” she mutters, shoving something into his face. It smells of nova lilies and lemon; her favorite oil and his favorite scent.
Even though she can’t see him in the dark, he flashes a half grin. “You sure you want to take that bet with me?”
Hera makes a frustrated growl and tries to shove him backward, something that doesn’t really work considering that she’s already got him up against a wall. “That’s cheating, you son of a bantha.”
“And you’re not cheating?” he counters. “Besides, might as well do something to keep myself entertained since this is all classified and you’re trying to get naked with me in a closet.”
“I told you, it’s hot in here!” she hisses at him.
“Trust me,” he grumbles, “I’ve noticed. That still doesn’t explain why we’re in here or who we’re hiding from. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m definitely the one that would die first in any scenario involving the Imperials.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll die first in this scenario too,” she laughs darkly. “Trust me, you would rather let the Imperials have you.”
Kanan’s brows draw together. “It’d be a lot easier to trust you if you told me what the fuck we were doing.”
“It’s class—”
“Yeah,” he mutters, cutting her off. “I get it.”
A wave of guilt that feels not entirely unlike a metric ton of duracrete bricks washes over him and her body relaxes into his for just a second. “Look, we’re not here for anything Imperial, okay? It’s not even a mission from Fulcrum. There’s just…something I needed and there’s a complication that I wasn’t expecting.”
“So if they’re not an Imperial and it’s not a mission from Fulcrum, why does it matter who the fuck it is? We plow through them, get whatever it is you need, and get the hell out of here?” he suggests. “Preferably before we die from heat stroke.”
There’s a long moment of silence and then Hera finally answers him, “Because we’re hiding from my father.”
“No,” Kanan says, grabbing Hera’s elbow although there’s not really anywhere that she can go. “I need you to start over. This doesn’t make sense.”
Sure, Hera has explained the entire situation to him about ten times now but something still isn't connecting. It's definitely not the part about Chopper being off, because that mechanical menace has always been off. It's not even the part where the only place that she can get the things she needs to fix him are in her childhood home being that her droid is only a million years old and she'd rather risk his life than deal with Jawas to get the circuit board that she needs. He's not even confused about the part about why they're hiding in a closet from her father; truth be told, he's done that more than once in his life, although he's not about to tell her that.
“What part of it doesn’t make sense?” she asks, obviously irritated. “You already made me spell it all out. There’s nothing else to tell.”
“Oh, believe me sweetheart, there’s plenty to tell,” he bites back. “We’ve been doing this for over a year and I find out today that you’re Cham Syndulla’s daughter?”
“It wasn’t important,” Hera sighs.
“We’ve worked together for a year and you didn’t bother telling me your last name? Are you going to try to claim classified on that one, too?" he argues. "I don't think it qualifies as classified when my life was absolutely at risk being that your father is a legendary Clone War General and feared revolutionary that isn’t exactly known for his tolerance of Humans. As a matter of fact, I think I deserved a debriefing before you decided to drag me back to your childhood home with you to go chasing after some…some…some stupid part for your asshole murdering droid?” he sputters.
“First of all, Chopper is not an asshole-murdering droid unless you’re being an asshole,” she starts to tick off. “Second of all, my last name wasn’t important, and finally my father doesn’t hate…" she pauses for a moment and then relents. "Okay, he’s not fond of Humans but he tolerates Jedi.”
Kanan snorts at that. “Yeah, and I’m totally just going to walk out there and tell him that I’m a Jedi. That will definitely make this whole thing better.”
“I told you, he wasn’t supposed to be here,” she huffs in exasperation. “We were just supposed to sneak in, you were going to do your thing and get that circuit board for Chop, and then we were going to get out. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated.”
That’s an understatement, he thinks to himself. Hera was supposed to give him a ride and they were going to needle the Empire and he was never actually going to develop feelings for her. None of this was ever supposed to be this complicated and yet, here they are. There’s only one way to get out of it, too, and it might as well be hopeless. Asking Hera questions usually results in the answer of classified or no answer at all. That doesn't mean he isn't going to try, especially since she's stuck in a closet with him and has no hope of escaping unless she runs into her father that she's seemingly wanting to avoid.
“Where was he supposed to be?”
Hera shifts slightly against his body. In the tight space, he can feel her lekku go limp against her back. The sadness that resonates with her being through the Force is such a contradiction to the woman he’s come to know. She’s never shown him anything but a stubborn and hopeful girl—this is the first real thing that he’s felt from her. Suddenly, Kanan feels like a bit of an ass for getting so irritated with her. He slides his hands up her arms, a move meant to be comforting and only comforting.
“You can tell me,” he says, his voice low and gentle as they come to rest against her shoulders. “And hey, if you regret telling me, you can shove me out of the closet and then your father can kill me so it’s still classified.”
There’s a slight laugh from her but it’s followed by a small choked sound, more of that contradiction that he’s not used to from her.
“It’s the day my mother died,” she finally utters. “He always goes to Rhovari today.”
“Rhovari,” he echoes. “Is that where she died?”
The shift of her lekku against his hands is an indication of a nod. “Firebombing. They took out the whole city. They were both there, delivering meds and supplies.” After another moment of quiet, Hera repeats herself in a small and broken voice. “He always goes to Rhovari.”
Even though he’s still sweating to death and in spite of the fact that it’s taken them literally being jammed in a closet together for Kanan to learn something real about Hera, he wraps his arms around her. He knows that tone, that emotion that she’s feeling. He hates being familiar with it and it’s the last thing that he wants for her.
“He hasn’t forgotten her,” Kanan assures her, pulling her into a tight embrace. “And neither have you.”
Just like he would expect from Hera—and honestly, it's the exact way he would react—a wall comes up and blocks off those emotions, but she doesn’t pull away from him. “I don’t know why he’s here,” she sighs. “I don’t know what to do with him here.”
Obviously, she doesn’t want to see her father, although he doesn't know what that's all about.
“So Plan A didn’t work,” he says, pulling back as much as he can. “Tell me where this part is and we can figure out Plan B.”
It’s almost a little disappointing to Kanan that the legendary Cham Syndulla might not be that much of a legend at all—maybe he just looks really good because he’s surrounded by idiots. As out of practice as he is at making suggestions, at least one of his men should have questioned Kanan’s presence, but nobody did. Honestly, it worked to his advantage; Hera got to avoid her father, he got to escape being eviscerated, and Chopper will be…well, who knows what the fuck Chopper will be because Kanan always assumed that Chopper was an asshole because that was Hera’s intention.
Maybe the little menace will be tolerable now.
After the sun has set, Kanan meets Hera at their rendezvous. In the light of the moon, she looks almost ethereal; the silver illuminating her jade skin in a way that the beauty he’s always seen within her is visible to all. Her gaze is cast off in the distance and although he knows Rhovari is far away, he knows that’s where she’s looking. Right now, Rhovari is where her heart is.
Kanan hangs back, out of her line of sight, trying to give her a few minutes but she somehow seems to know that he’s there. The way she says his name is softer than usual; a tender song that she’s never sung for him before. Something has changed and yet, everything is the same.
“Got the part,” he says, holding up the circuit board and then a handful of other things that look like they might go to the ancient astromech. “I was just…I thought maybe you wanted to wait a little longer.”
Hera shakes her head, gaze still cast out over the hill. “I found my father.”
Curiosity was always going to be the cause of his death, so Kanan makes the final few steps up the hill to join Hera. Below them, deep in a canyon, sits a singular figure illuminated by the light of a fire. Narrowing his eyes, he can see that there’s some sort of etchings on the wall of red rock.
“A memorial?” he asks, unaware of the Twi’lek cultures or how they honor their dead.
A sad smile pulls at her lips and she shakes her head. “It’s where they were married. The etchings in the wall, it’s part of the ceremony. When we marry, we carve it in stone so that all will know that our love is so strong that no element of nature nor act of man can erase what we share.”
“He was never going to Rhovari,” Kanan says, voice slightly awed in wonder.
“No,” she murmurs. “Rhovari is where this life separated them—all these years, he was coming here, where their souls were joined.”
Carefully, Kanan wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her in, offering her what little bit of comfort he can. When she lifts her head from his shoulder to press a gentle kiss against his jaw, it feels real, and it sends his world flying off kilter. He doesn’t have time to linger on it, though.
“Come on,” she says, sliding her hand down to take his. “Let’s get out of here before this turns into your memorial site.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan,” he grins, letting her lead him by the hand back in the direction of the Ghost.
Kanan can’t help but turn one last time as they walk away, glancing toward the amber light of the fire dancing off of the red rock, thinking of the man that’s sitting alone in the place where his heart found peace as two souls became one.
It’s strange, he thinks, how he can share something in common with a man that he’s never met.
Stranger still is knowing that he will meet the man one day and he won’t be afraid to tell the legendary Clone War General that he is in love with his daughter—and that their love is strong enough to be etched in stone.