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Kanan tried to keep his voice calm, but it was difficult when his young Padawan seemed determined to get himself killed by the Inquisitorius. “Ezra, I know how important getting to Lothal is.”
“No, Kanan! Actually, you don't know what this is like!” Ezra’s words were sharp, almost an accusation. Kanan winced as he felt their cutting edge.
It would have been easy to become angry, to yell and fight back. But instead he sighed, lowering his eyes to the durasteel floors of Garel space port.
“You're right,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I never knew my parents.”
Ezra's fierce expression immediately changed to one of regret. “Kanan, I–I’m sorry.”
Kanan shook his head. “No, it's okay,” he said gently. He looked up at Ezra, his gaze steady. “It's too late for me. But maybe not for you.”
It hadn't been an easy conversation to have. Nor did it feel any easier when telling Hera about it later. She'd gotten the short version of it via holo, but now that they were together again in the safety of hyperspace, Kanan filled in the blanks. He couldn't help but feel a flare of shame when he described Ezra's recklessness, charging toward those Inquisitors alone back on Garel. Or when he recalled the intense anger he'd felt radiating from his Padawan in the Force. It seemed like he was failing Ezra at every turn.
Kanan sighed, scratching at the shadow of stubble growing on his cheeks as he leaned back against the acceleration couch. The Ghost was quiet except for the omnipresent hum of the life support systems and the light-speed engines. A quick check in the Force confirmed that everyone else was asleep, exhausted after the excitement with the princess from Alderaan. Kanan felt his own bed calling to him, but this debrief with Hera was important.
“I see so much of who I used to be in Ezra,” Kanan murmured, his weary eyes staring at nothing in particular on the table in front of him. “The anger, the desire for vengeance, the mistrust.” He combed his fingers through his hair, blowing out a puff of air as he did. “I just don't want to see him make the same mistakes I did when I lost…”
Kanan made a vague gesture with his hand as he trailed off. When I lost everything.
Hera nodded thoughtfully, leaning against the dejarik table.
“I know you said that you didn't–couldn't–know what it was like for Ezra,” she said carefully, “but maybe you understand more than you think.”
Kanan looked up at her, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Because of my Master?”
Hera laid a hand over his, resting on the table.
“Because of your parents.”
Kanan's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “But I never knew them,” he said with a little shake of his head.
Hera's expression was soft in the low light settings of the night cycle as she took Kanan's hands in hers. “I know it isn't exactly the same, but you lost your parents too,” she said, stroking a thumb across his knuckles.
“They chose to give me to the Order,” Kanan replied quickly, surprised by the defensiveness in his voice. “It was an honor to become a Jedi.”
“Hey—" Hera squeezed his hands—“I'm not saying that what your parents did, what the Jedi did, was right or wrong,” she said gently. “I'm sure everyone was doing what they thought was best for you. But, Kanan–” she dipped her head slightly to be closer to his eye level, one lek slipping over her shoulder–“it’s okay to love your life at the temple, your Masters, and still miss knowing your family.”
She released his hands and took the lek that had fallen over her shoulder, tracing the patterns of tattoos with her fingers. “My relationship with my dad is–well, you know–but my heritage is still important to me. On Ryloth, we keep our family histories alive through our clan markings and the Kalikori.” Hera let the end of her lek slip through her fingertips. “Without them, I would feel like part of myself was missing.”
Kanan clenched and unclenched his jaw, feeling the muscle in his cheek flicker. It was difficult to find the words to express how he felt. How did he describe the absence of something? It was like trying to describe a black hole; he couldn't see the void itself, only the way he bent around it.
“I've thought about them,” he said slowly, “wondered who they were, what happened to them.”
Hera nodded as she listened. “All the same questions Ezra has been asking since he was seven years old,” she added with a sad smile.
Kanan felt an uncomfortable swirl of emotions inside him, like a snake twisting in his gut.
“Maybe,” he replied. “But it doesn't matter.” He lowered his gaze to the checkered surface of the table. “Like I told Ezra, it's too late for me.”
Hera ducked her head, practically laying on the table until she was in his field of vision. Her green eyes brimmed with hope and determination, an expression that was so uniquely hers. “They might still be alive,” she said softly, laying her hand on his shoulder. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we could find them?”
The idea was tempting. Kanan might have been the last of the Jedi, but that didn't mean he was the last of his kind. Somewhere in the galaxy he could have parents, maybe even siblings, a warm extended family of aunts and uncles and cousins. He'd imagined them so many times. If he found them, would it be like looking in a mirror? Would he see his eyes, his nose, his lips on the faces of strangers?
Even at the temple, back when he was Caleb, he remembered laying in his bed at night, staring at the dark ceiling and listening to the soft breathing of the other younglings. He'd always had a curious mind, Caleb, and he would think about the family he couldn't remember. Did they still think of him too, wondering what had become of their little boy? Had they cried when the Masters had taken him away? Did they ever regret their choice to let him go? And then Caleb would feel his stomach twist into sick knots. Just the thoughts smacked of treachery, dangerously close to the attachments Master Yoda constantly warned against.
Then when Caleb was suddenly all alone in the galaxy, sleeping under bridges and inside dark alleys on Kaller, he’d thought of his family again. After Order 66, had they mourned him? When the news came across their holoscreens of the Jedi’s betrayal, had his mother fallen to the ground and howled, cursing herself for ever giving him to the Order?
Sometimes in those dark, cold moments, his thoughts had turned into fantasies. If he could somehow find his family, maybe they would take him back. He could live an ordinary life, the one he might have had if the Jedi Masters had never taken him away. He could be safe and warm and fed again–maybe even loved. But the Empire surely had taken all of the Jedi records. The enemy now knew more about Caleb Dume than Caleb Dume did. His family might already be under their watch. Maybe they were dead. The only thing he knew for certain was that they were better off without him. He would bring them nothing but danger.
*
Hera watched Kanan at the dejarik table, examined the tiny emotions and expressions flickering across his face. He seemed lost in his thoughts, hesitant and at war with himself in a way she so rarely saw. She didn't press him any more. Instead she slid off of the table to sit beside him on the acceleration couch. She stroked his shoulders gently, her practiced fingers kneading away the tension in his muscles.
Finally, Kanan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“I have my family already.” He reached over and took one of Hera’s hands, pressing it to his lips. “Right here.”
Hera shook her head with a soft laugh.
Kanan gave her hand a gentle tug and she climbed into his lap, thighs on either side of his so they could face each other. Kanan buried his head in the crook of her neck with a soft huff, nuzzling the spot just below her earcone. He kissed her gently, but there was no heat behind it–only a silent bid for connection, for reassurance. Hera was more than happy to provide both.
She untied his hair, running her fingers through the thick, dark strands and admiring the way they shifted red when they caught the light. Kanan let out a contented sigh as she massaged around his temples. Already he had begun showing some gray there–from the kids, he'd told her. She lightly traced the silver streaks with a fingertip. Then she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the worried lines wrinkling his forehead.
“I love the family we've made,” Hera whispered, cupping Kanan's face in her hands, “and I’ll support your decision no matter what. But I just want you to be sure.”
She gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation in their blue-green depths. Such an unusual color. Had it come from his mother? His father? Surely Kanan had stared in the mirror and wondered.
He turned his head to place a kiss on her palm.
“It took a while, but I've made peace with who I am, with my past.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, fingers tracing meditatively up and down her back in long, soothing strokes. He glanced down, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll always have questions–about my family, about what might have happened to them–” he looked back up at Hera with a small smile– “but I let go of them a long time ago.”
Hera bent her head to press her lips against Kanan's. She let out a soft sigh as she sank against him, resting her head on his shoulder. His chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle as her troublesome lekku batted him in the face and curled around him, eager for his touch; they always became harder to control when Kanan was involved.
“It's been a rough few days,” Hera murmured. She ran a hand down Kanan's arm. “We should get some sleep.”
She felt his lips curl into a sly smile against one of her lek. “Is that an invitation?”
Hera laughed. There was the Kanan she knew.
“Only if you actually plan on sleeping,” she said, sitting back to look at him. She stretched her arms overhead with a quiet grunt. “I'm beat.”
Kanan slumped wearily against the back of the couch. “So am I,” he sighed.
Still, he seemed reluctant to leave, his hands still lingering on her hips.
“Let’s cuddle for a bit first,” Hera suggested. “I think we both could use it.”
Kanan nodded, wiping a hand over his red-rimmed eyes. Hera stood, pulling him up after her. They held hands as they walked together down the hallway of the Ghost, something they so rarely did anymore. They playfully fought for sink space in the refresher as they brushed their teeth, Kanan bumping her out of the way with his hip so he could spit. Then, in the safety and privacy of her room, they helped each other undress. Hera tutted softly at a dark bruise blooming on Kanan's back.
“That stormtrooper armor really doesn't protect anything, does it?” she said wryly, careful not to touch the spot as she pulled away Kanan's sweater. “We can put some bacta on it.”
Kanan shrugged. “Let's not waste it,” he said. “You never know when we might really need it.”
They settled onto the thin mattress of her bunk, Kanan with his back against the wall, face toward the door, and Hera tucked against him. He buried his face in the space between her lekku with a tired groan. The vibration of his voice against her sensitive headtails made Hera squirm.
“Hey, watch it!” she said with a little laugh.
Kanan offered each lek a soft kiss in apology.
They laid quietly for several minutes, enjoying their shared warmth–the Ghost always ran cold to save energy and avoid detection from thermal scanners. Hera felt the even rise and fall of Kanan's chest against her back, a reassuring constant. She'd never admit it out loud, but she hated the nights when he wasn't on board. Even when he slept on his own bunk, knowing that he was just across the hall brought her comfort.
The steady drone of the ventilation system, recycling the air throughout the ship, was like a lullaby. Hera’s heavy eyelids fluttered closed and she was nearly asleep when she felt Kanan shift slightly behind her.
“Thank you,” he said, his low voice muffled against her skin.
Hera reached a hand behind her and patted his cheek affectionately. “What for?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
His response was so quiet she barely heard it. “For everything.”
Hera turned in his arms so they were laying face to face. She ran a fingertip lightly down the bridge of his nose, tracing its sharp angle.
“I sometimes wonder–” she let the sentence hang between them, unfinished. Hera bit her lip, unsure if she should continue.
Kanan tucked an arm beneath his head. “You wonder…?” he prompted, pulling her closer. He raised an eyebrow. “Don't hold out on me now.”
Hera smiled weakly, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “I sometimes wonder if there's another reason we keep getting drawn back to Lothal,” she said. “You always said you felt a special connection.”
Kanan sighed softly. “I've wondered that too,” he replied. Then he shrugged a shoulder. “I guess we'll never know for sure.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking pensive.
“Maybe someday,” Kanan began hesitantly, “if we actually win this fight and the danger is passed–”
Hera stroked his cheek, feeling the rough growth of hair there. “We’ll look for them,” she promised, finishing his thought.
A slow smile spread across Kanan's face. He looked a little less weary than he had before. “I'd like them to meet Zeb and Sabine and Ezra, even Chopper,” he said, taking her hand. He looked up at her with that piercing blue-green gaze. “And you.”
Hera felt a thick feeling in her throat and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“I want to show them the family we built,” Kanan continued, pressing her hand to his chest. She felt his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath her palm. “I want them to know that I wasn't alone.”
Hera leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.
“You’ll never be alone, love.”
6 ABY
Hera kept her promise. She walked the streets of Capital City, at once intensely familiar and strangely foreign to her. The skyline seemed so open without the looming Imperial Complex and star destroyers. Most of the rubble and destruction from the occupation was cleared away, and she noticed a few new buildings had gone up since her last visit.
The market was busy, bustling with shoppers of all species. She pulled Jacen closer in the crowd before he was swept away by the press. Her son surveyed his surroundings with a grave expression. He was such a serious child, but what else could he be? He’d lived nearly all of his life at the center of a Galactic war, most of it on a cold ship with few playmates his own age. Chopper had done his best, but Jacen needed other children.
Hera smiled a little sadly, squeezing his small hand. Hopefully all that would change after today.
It had taken some time to find them. The Imperials had purged many of their records during the handover, trying to create as much chaos and confusion as possible for the fledgling New Republic. Without the help of AP-5, she might never have found the list of Jedi initiates–the droid was nothing if not meticulous.
In the end, no one had been surprised to see that Caleb Dume’s planet of origin was Lothal; Jacen had been born on the same planet as his father.
Hera felt a flutter of nerves as she steered Jacen from the bustle of the open market into a quiet, shady neighborhood. She could smell the sweet fragrance of Jogan blossoms in the air as she scanned the map on her holo disc. How many times had they been in this area over the years, never knowing how close Kanan's family had been the whole time? Would it have made him happy to know? Regretful? Hera wished he was beside her, the way they had imagined so many years ago.
She double-checked the address one last time before approaching the simple home. It was built in the traditional Lothali style, two stories with a flat balcony on the roof for enjoying the mild weather. Dark pink flowers climbed up the white stucco walls. Hera took a deep breath as she approached the door and knocked. As they waited, she turned and gave Jacen a reassuring smile.
The door opened and Hera was met by a striking pair of blue-green eyes set above a sharp nose. The dark hair was gray at the temples, shifting to red where it caught the light. She could only stare for a moment before she recovered her manners.
“Hera Syndulla,” she said, politely extending her hand. “We spoke via holo.”
Jacen hid behind her legs and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “And this is Jacen,” Hera added, looking down at him with a smile. “This is Ka–Caleb’s son.”
She knelt down, taking Jacen's hands in her own. “Sweetheart,” she said gently, “this is your family.”
Inside she could see curious faces peering out at them. Old faces, young faces. In each one, she could see traces of Kanan–her Kanan, their Caleb. Jacen peeked out from behind her legs at the children inside the door, the ones who had his copper skin and freckles.
“Welcome!”
Warm arms embraced her and drew them inside. The children rushed forward to invite Jacen to join their games. Hera smelled warm spices and the soft perfume of flowers. All around the faces of strangers looked at her with familiar eyes and familiar smiles and greeted her like she had always belonged there.
I'll tell them about you, about Zeb and Sabine And Ezra and the family we built, Hera promised silently, brushing away the tears swimming in the corners of her vision. I'll tell them that you weren't alone.
She looked over at Jacen. He was grinning in a circle of cousins, eyes bright as they played with a spinning ball toy. The toy toppled, splitting into smaller spinning pieces and the children shrieked with laughter. Hera felt a swell of pride and affection as she watched their son, her and Kanan's. He had always been a carbon copy of his father. Here, surrounded by his family, the resemblance was even more striking.
Hera could almost feel Kanan there with her. She smiled softly, placing a hand on her shoulder where she imagined his gentle touch. As she watched Jacen play, she made him one last promise.
Our son will never be alone.