Work Text:
It took awhile for Hera to adjust to living aboard a ship, but now she wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, the Ghost would always symbolize freedom from a period where she could only dream about piloting. Flying among the galaxy’s vast expanse of stars had been as much an act of defiance as ambition when Hera was a teenager.
Back then, she’d just had the Ghost and her thoughts for company, long before she'd met Kanan that fated day on Gorse. Chopper hadn’t even come along.
Now, she had a crew. A family.
Involved in the galaxy’s greater rebellion, Hera’s reliable Corellian freighter aided the Spectres in near-impossible situations, ran supply runs, and gathered valuable intel–all while functioning as their home. Over the years, Hera made some of the best memories of her life here.
Most of the time, she loved her ship.
Not tonight.
Somewhere in between routine ops and training sessions for Phoenix Squadron’s pilots, the Ghost’s internal systems started acting weird. Hera knew the ship's plight was partly her fault, although Atollon’s sandy landscape wasn’t helping matters. She’d been so caught up with her duties as Phoenix Leader that she hadn’t conducted maintenance on the Ghost in…
Fuck. She couldn’t remember.
Well, now I’m paying the price at two in the morning.
Lying underneath her ship’s main control panel, Hera soon noticed extensive issues: the hyperdrive and piloting system were shot. They weren’t going anywhere unless numerous repairs were made. That wouldn’t be a huge problem if her crew wasn’t with Phoenix Squadron. As a solo vessel, repairs could be conducted over a couple days in accordance with scheduling.
However, amidst an expanding rebel cause, time was a luxury Hera’s family didn’t have. Commander Sato needed them off-world the following morning; not to mention any non-functional systems could turn routine missions into emergencies.
Hera didn't have time to exit from underneath the control panel before coolant blasted her full in the face. Swearing in Ryl between coughs, she pushed herself out. Hera didn’t lose her temper often–something learned from relying on herself during those long teenage years–but frustration rose in her throat now.
Flying solo did have its perks.
I hate when Kanan’s right.
A headache pulled at Hera’s temples. Although diving back into repairs was tempting, she sat on the floor for a few moments and let her exhausted mind clear. She prioritized work over well-being far too often these days.
Once she didn’t feel like punching the wall, Hera analyzed the situation. She couldn’t finish this job by herself, not in time for the mission…but there was one other person aboard who knew the Ghost’s inner workings like she did.
She walked across their common area, careful to avoid tripping in the soft darkness before entering Sabine’s cabin. Her second-youngest Spectre was curled underneath her blankets, breathing evenly. Hera hated to wake her–it had been a long week for everyone–but she didn’t trust anyone except Sabine with the Ghost’s major repairs.
Despite her age, the Mandalorian was a gifted mechanic.
This isn’t the first time ‘Bine and I have grappled with the Ghost. We’ll be fine.
Hera knelt at the bedside and gently shook her shoulder. Sabine bolted upright, on high alert before recognizing who it was. That practiced vigilance, even in the dead of night, made Hera’s heart clench.
Sometimes she forgot how young Sabine still was, how much she went through before joining the Ghost crew.
“Hey, kiddo. Sorry to get you up so early, but I need your help with something.”
“Don’t tell me it’s the ship again.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
Sabine sighed. “Why is that not surprising? Lead the way; let’s see how bad it is.”
When they reached the cockpit, Sabine inspected the affronted systems. Her face fell.
“Shit.”
“Language,” Hera scolded, but she couldn’t restrain a smile. Her daughter’s expressions were like paintings in themselves; Sabine couldn’t hide what she felt even if her life depended on it. She loved that Sabine felt comfortable standing out–Force knows the Imperial Academy tried beating blind loyalty into her.
“Wait a second. Can you get a spanner?” Sabine asked. “I want to try something.”
Wondering what she planned, Hera did as requested. Sabine inserted it behind the Ghost’s main control panel, working the spanner back and forth until it locked into place.
“I think I can generate a small burst of energy,” Sabine explained. She applied pressure and the spanner sparked, lighting up the whole panel. “It’s like-”
“Jumpstarting a speeder bike,” Hera realized. She’d done something similar when her father prohibited her participation in recon missions. “Good thinking. That should give us enough to repair the system, and I have an idea about fixing the hyperdrive.”
The work was still tedious, but repairs became almost manageable with Sabine around. Hera was grateful for her daughter’s steady presence, her practiced eye finding details she’d overlooked. She hadn’t spent much time alone with Sabine in the past few weeks, and Hera hoped to remedy that as soon as possible.
We’re the only two women aboard. Girls should stick together.
Everyone else’s voices echoing from the common room shocked Hera back into reality. She checked her chrono: 6:00 AM. She and Sabine had officially been up for the rest of the night, but the Ghost was ready to fly.
Sabine stood up from where she crouched over the hyperdrive, surveying their work with a mischievous smile.
“How you kept the Ghost airborne without me, I’ll never know.”
Hera rolled her eyes. “You’re worse than Chopper. Go get changed before our mission.”
Sabine vanished down the corridor, her laughter warming Hera. The Twi'lek of all people knew old habits were difficult to break, so she loved when Sabine’s playful side shone through. Her daughter often withdrew into herself, a coping mechanism developed from life on the run.
Accustomed to mission protocol, it didn’t take long for everyone else to assemble. Hera took off into Atollon’s cloudy atmosphere once her crew was briefed and ready, hoping against hope that fixing the Ghost would be the easiest thing she’d do today.
Albeit limited, Sato’s intel had come through. Several crates of munitions were tucked away in the cargo hold for distribution among squadrons back on Atollon. It hadn’t been the hardest mission, but Hera would be glad to land on solid ground.
There weren’t enough ways she could make ration bars taste interesting.
The cockpit door opened and Hera saw a flash of bright-colored hair in her peripherals. Hera ensured the Ghost was flying level before facing Sabine, who was sitting in her chair by the navicomputer. She’d put her armor away since coming back aboard.
“How’s it going?”
“We should have enough weapons for the whole base,” she reported. “Kanan and Ezra are organizing everything so our inventory droids can store what little we don’t need. I should go help-”
“No. You’ve done enough. Remember that Commander Sato will want a mission rundown when we return.”
Looking at the exhaustion in her daughter’s face, Hera felt a stab of guilt.
“Go rest for a bit, kiddo. We won’t arrive for some time.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been pulling all-nighters far longer.”
Hera turned back to the controls. She expected her daughter to come back soon–Sabine’s stubbornness rivaled even Ezra’s–but the cockpit descended into rare silence. After a half hour passed, Hera decided to check on her.
“Chop, take over for me.” The Ghost’s ornery orange droid grumbled in protest: why should he fly if Hera was right here?
“Because I want to take care of my kid, C1-10P. Do it or you’re getting an oil bath back on Atollon.”
Once Chopper gained control of the ship, Hera went into her cabin and took out the quilted blanket from under her bed. Embroidered in vibrant rainbow squares, it was one of her few possessions that survived Ryloth’s Separatist invasion long ago.
She peeked inside Sabine’s cabin to find her sound asleep. Hera tucked the blanket around her and had just closed the door when Kanan called her name. He and Ezra must have finished down in the cargo hold.
“Is Sabine okay?”
“Just exhausted, love. Our repairs took all night.”
Kanan pulled Hera into an embrace, her beloved’s warm touch welcoming after such a harrowing night.
“You should rest too. I’ll fly us back to base.”
Hera buried her face in Kanan’s chest. She knew he was right. “You better not scratch my ship when landing.”
He chuckled. “Sleep well, love. I’ll wake you and Sabine when we arrive.”
Hera barely took those last couple steps to her cabin on her own before collapsing onto the bed. As sleep pulled her under, she vowed she’d never make late-night repairs on the Ghost again–at least, not until next time.