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“Relax.”
It’s something that Hera has to tell herself as she looks at her reflection in the mirror, at the elegantly lined eyes and the lightly stained lips that shine with a light gloss. Chromium earrings encircle her earcones, with expertly cut heart of fire gemstones dangling from each one, with earrings to match. These gemstones alone are probably worth more than her ship, but they’re worth every credit as far as she is concerned. The jewelry is more than just a disguise; they’re a symbol for the contact that she’s scheduled to meet.
In a time that wasn’t so complicated, the stones were meant to be a symbol of love or caring, something that held the spirit of both the giver and the receiver. As Fulcrum described it, the jewels are meant to symbolize the few who are willing to risk it all, whose hearts carry the flame of rebellion. Hera likes to think it means a little of both; the wearer’s heart might be ablaze with revolution but each mission completed and act of kindness carried out passes that fire on to another.
Her hands tremble as she makes another attempt at trying to clasp the necklace around her neck, her uncooperative and rigid lekku getting in the way, causing her nothing but grief.
With an astonishing amount of self control, she manages not to hurl the necklace to the deck out of frustration. Instead, she lays it aside and curls her fingertips around the countertop, trying to force herself to calm down. Things are finally starting to feel normal with Kanan again and she promised him no more of these missions, none of this pretending to be something they aren’t, but he was the only one that she could turn to—
—and Fulcrum wasn’t going to take no for an answer without an excuse.
“I can’t decide if you’re hiding in there or if you left me behind,” Kanan says, sounding nearly as nervous as she feels, on the other side of the ‘fresher door.
Sighing softly, she picks up the necklace and reluctantly opens the door to the ‘fresher. “This might be the most complicated disguise that I’ve ever worn.”
“Whoa.” Kanan exhales the word so softly that it sounds as if the wind has been knocked from his chest.
For the first time, Hera looks up from the Force-forsaken necklace in her hands and her perfectly painted nails, but she doesn’t make it much farther than the broad span of Kanan’s chest. Allegedly, the suit wouldn’t be tailored to him but the material it was composed of would create the allusion it was. The manner in which the shirt that matches the deep red of her gemstones has her thoroughly convinced.
She’s trying not to dwell on the fit of his pants, or the way that his overcoat clings to the curve of his biceps. Goddess knows that her lekku are already out of control as it is, the last thing she needs is them getting all twisted up on each other.
When she sees his hair is down, free from the tail he prefers with loose waves brushing against broad shoulders, there’s absolutely no controlling her talkative lekku.
“I—” she starts but then doesn’t know what to say. Hera clears her throat and tries again, motioning to the modest black shimmersilk gown, the dress hugging her lithe waist before cascading into a flared, floor length skirt that allow for both free range of motion and shoes that won’t impede a fast getaway. The dress’ only concession to modesty is barely that, a slight v in the back to distract onlookers, with a jewel neckline to allow for her contact to see the heart of fire with ease against the black shimmersilk. “It’s a lot,” she finally musters weakly, necklace clutched in her hand. “I don’t wear jewelry.”
Kanan closes one large, hot hand around her flailing hand and gently unfolds her fingers. “Allow me?”
Hera chides herself for thinking that she’d rather have him help her out of all of the finery, rather than into it. After several long moments of silence, she realizes that Kanan is still waiting for her to answer, and heat rises to her cheeks. “O-oh. Sure. Please.”
When she turns her back to him, she hears him chuckle slightly. “I think I might have found the problem.”
“Yeah,” she huffs, not nearly as amused.
“You know, I think I know how to fix this,” he says, lowering his voice an octave. “I hear that if you rub them—”
“Kanan Jarrus, don’t you dare think about finishing that statement.”
“How will you know if I think about finishing it?” he asks, smug grin still obvious in his tone, although the suggestion has left his words.
It takes every last bit of willpower she has not to say that in those pants, she’ll very much know if he’s thinking about it. Instead, she simply shakes her head.
“You know,” he says, voice breaking slightly, “I’m, uh, going to have to touch them to get this on. I know they’re—I mean, is that—”
“It’s okay,” she murmurs without thinking.
When rough fingertips gently brush the sensitive underside of her lek and then the back of her neck, she involuntarily shivers, a sensation of electricity traveling up her spine and then along her lekku. Hera wants to lean into the touch, desperately desires to feel more of it, but it takes nearly no time at all for him to clasp the necklace into place. She draws a steadying breath, one hand resting over her abdomen, before she turns to face him.
“I didn’t realize they get all curly like that,” he grins, motioning to the end of her lek while obviously taking care not to touch them. “You didn’t include that in my anatomy lesson.”
Hera smiles faintly and relaxes, if only slightly. “Maybe another night, dear. The sooner we do this, the sooner it’s over.”
After they descend the ladder, Kanan grasps her hand to stop from descending down the ramp and into the spaceport. With a gentle tug, he pulls her back to him, their bodies suggestively close. To any passerby, it would merely be a scene between two lovers, but it’s not.
“You’d tell me, right?” he questions in a low voice. “If this is one of those jobs where we’re supposed to—” he trails off, face flushing slightly.
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” she answers resolutely. “I won’t ever do that again, I promise. This job, it’s—there’s a contact I’m supposed to be meeting. They have a holodisk with areas with high concentrations of insurgent activity. The Empire firebombs those regions with no regard for whether or not there are Imperial loyalists present or not. If I can get this information, maybe somebody can stop these attacks from happening, or at least clear out the area before the Empire initiates their assault.”
“And the disguises?”
“The contact has infiltrated a group of wealthy citizens, all of which claim to be Imperial loyalists because they want to keep their credits. Quietly—”
“They’re in support of a Rebellion because they don’t want to be robbed of their resources,” Kanan concludes for her.
Hera nods slightly, her gaze focused on his. She feels his hand tighten gently around hers before he pulls it to his mouth to leave a kiss against the back of her hand.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Despite feeling her face flush even more deeply, she can’t tear her eyes away from him. “For what?”
“That’s the first time you’ve ever trusted me with the full details of a mission,” he explains, his eyes warm and expression genuine. “I know it’s not a big deal, not really, but it just feels like I’m fighting with you for a change.”
With trembling lekku and shallow breaths, Hera steps closer to him and reaches up on the tips of her toes to brush her lips lightly over his cheek. “I’ll make sure that you’re fighting with me from now on.”
Kanan looks mildly gobsmacked, she imagines it’s the same expression he wore when she kissed him and then ran into the ship before he could react. She nearly wants to run again, almost wants to kiss him once more, but instead she smiles widely.
“What?” he asks, the ruddiness of his skin even deeper than normal.
Reaching up, she cups his cheek and rubs her thumb over his skin where the stain from her lips have left their mark. “Let’s just say that I’m not used to wearing makeup and that I’m fairly certain you don’t want to.”
His positively goofy grin widens as he leans into her touch. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Captain Hera.”
She smiles, satisfied that she’s managed to rub the mark away. Reaching down, she takes his hand in hers. “Save it for later, Jarrus. Right now, we have a mission.”
If only he’d realize that she meant it when she said save it for later.