Depression/Acceptance

A hand on the shoulder.

She kept a hand on his shoulder.

Hera watched Kanan sleep. Over the years, long before their crew had grown, they had performed this service – one over the other – repeatedly. When ops had gone bad, when contacts had been captured or killed, when something hit one of them hard. Over time, Kanan learned that Hera didn't sleep when things hit her, worked and worried and gnawed at the pain until she worked her way through it. Kanan by contrast had nightmares, and many times Chopper signaled her comm in the dead of night and she would go across the way and wait for him to wake with a soft gasp. Always his blue-green eyes would rove about until they settled on her, and he would visibly relax in his bunk. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn't, and sometimes, when things were really, really, bad, they shared a bunk, taking comfort in waking in the presence of someone safe.

She watched him sleep now, saw the telltale stiffness in his frame, the tension in his muscles, and knew he was dreaming of the red blades and the dark temple and everything that had happened. And when he woke he would not be able to find her, and panic would rise in his chest until she reached out and touched his sweating shoulder. It was a small detail, so small, and yet it had changed everything about how these rituals played out, and Hera was at a loss as to what to feel.

There it was, the soft gasp, and Kanan held himself still, listening, hand reaching up to his face and waving it, still not awake enough to understand his nightmare existed in more than just his mind. His breath quickened but Hera reached out and touched his shoulder.

This time, a hand reached back, touching the wrist, encircling it, and he turned into the touch. Kanan was honest in a raw, often painful way, but even in the depths of his pain he held himself together for the crew; for Zeb and Sabine and most especially for Ezra. He would not let himself break in front of them.

But Hera was a different story. They had both fallen to pieces in front of each other, seen each other at their worst and still they were together. There was nothing left to hide, and neither of them bothered.

And here, in the quiet of his bunk, away from the others, shielded from the world, he looked in her direction, pain so deep behind those ruined eyes Hera didn't have words to offer him, and he broke.

Kanan was always a quiet person. Despite the rowdy cowboy demeanor he affected, when push came to shove he made little noise. His nightmares were silent and still, intimacy soft and whispered, and his sobs were without sound. All he had were shaking shoulders and shuddering breaths, and all Hera could do was climb into the bunk and hold him, keep him together as his losses hit him full force. He could not even bury his face into her neck, the wound was too raw, too sensitive – he had to hold his head away even as he clung to her with everything else. She said things, stupid empty reassurances, whispered support, murmurs of, "It's okay." None of it meant anything, she knew, because nothing would be the same.

She had known this was going to happen. That day Kanan had them rendezvous with Ahsoka away from the fleet, talking about going to Lothal to seek guidance. "We're putting the rebellion in danger," he had said. "We're using the Force more often, and we're becoming easy to detect. Ezra is so powerful, he's a beacon to the Inquisitors, and I can't – we can't – fight them on our own. We need knowledge, some way to get the upper hand, so we're not a danger to you. We need to take the fight to them somehow." That was the day she realized what the stakes were for Kanan. Even after eight years of traveling and adventuring, even after seeing his fears and his nightmares and his desperate denials of who and what he was, only that day did she realize just how much survival was a win-state for the Jedi, and how close he was to losing it. That was when she really began to feel fear, because for the first time since knowing him Kanan was suggesting going on the offensive, and they both had the raw experience of knowing what that meant against the Empire.

For eight years they had stuck together, helped each other. He had been there for every problem, every close call, every moment of anxiety, and now when she could support him he left to protect her interests: the rebellion.

… He had always been considerate.

She knew it was bad when Ezra made the call of their approach instead of Kanan. She knew it was worse when she saw the perfectly coordinated descent, too controlled for an organic being. Kanan never let Chopper pilot if he could help it, and that was when dread had filled her stomach. Then she had seen him, and she knew things would never be the same.

"I'm sorry..."

Hera cupped his cheek in her hand, guided his forehead to touch hers, tried to shush him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. The shaking was almost done, the voice raw with emotion. She could not see those beautiful blue-green eyes, would never see them again. The lightsaber had forever ruined his expressive gaze, and Hera felt tears in her own eyes. Would he even be able to cry?

"Don't..." she started to say.

"I can't see you again," he moaned, voice tight and raw. "I promised... I promised..."

Heartache filled Hera's chest, and she let out a shuddering breath of her own. She reached down for his hands, finding one and gently tugged it up. She pressed it against her face, guiding his fingers, kissing his palm. "I see you," she said, and her voice was just as raw as his. "I see you, and you can see me. Look at me." She found his other hand and pulled it up as well. "Look at me."

It took a while for her words to sink in, for him to explore her with his hands under his own power, but he did. Her cheeks, her forehead, her ear cones, one hand moved down the entire length of her lekku. He traced her chin, gently touched her lips, and finally he traced his fingertips over her eyes and felt the dampness. Emotion swelled in him again. "I never wanted to make you cry..."

And she couldn't even find the words to help him, she lay next to him, as helpless as he, unable to make a pain like this go away. All they could do was weather the storm in each other's arms, feel the pain and work through it. She would not be sleeping for weeks as she tried to process this, and she knew most of those nights would be in his room, in his bunk, holding him through the nightmares.

"Ezra..." he said finally, after the worst had passed. "He's dreaming. We need to wake him up..."

"You stay here," Hera said, "I'll wake him."

"No, he needs help. I have to..." He was already sitting up, fumbling for a shirt, still unused to finding things by touch. Hera wordlessly grabbed the sweater and handed it to him, stood and waited for him. She could not stop him – in point of fact she would not stop him – she would not take away what little agency he still had, and was determined to give him as much agency as possible in the days to come. Kanan stood slowly, weak and unsteady on his feet, one hand reaching for the wall. Hera exited the bunk first, and made herself move to Ezra and Zeb's door before she waited for Kanan to catch up. They were out of his bunk now, away from his nightmare, and he no longer allowed himself to be broken, and Hera would hold to that to the last. Kanan caught up quickly, they had lived on the Ghost for years, he knew all the steps and the groves and the hatches of the freighter, and Hera let him open the door.

Zeb had watch and was in the cockpit, Ezra was by himself, a tetrahedron on his bunk by his pillow, and Kanan confidently stepped in and reached up, bumping his knuckles on the bunk as he misjudged the height before he adjusted. The faintest touch and Ezra jerked awake, grunting and jolting into a sitting position before he hit his head on the bulkhead. Muttering Zeb's curse words and rubbing his forehead, he rolled over to see Hera and Kanan watching him, and Hera watched his face cringe in a pain that wasn't physical.

"... I didn't mean to wake you..." he mumbled.

And none of Kanan's pain was audible as he reached out to touch his student, to put a hand on the young teen's shoulder. "... You didn't," he answered, and there was so much in those two words, so many layers that his inherent honesty conveyed that Ezra became even more pained. Hera couldn't help with this, she wasn't there, didn't see what they saw; all she knew was the aftermath. Moreover, she couldn't let herself interfere with this relationship – she trusted Kanan and she wouldn't reneg that, wouldn't assume he was helpless now that he was missing one of his five senses. She gave them their space, moved down to the engine room. The flux capacitor was due for a tune up, and it wasn't like she was going to sleep any time soon.

That morning she was in the cockpit, absolutely exhausted and morose, guiding the Ghost and nudging the systems without anything resembling thought. She was on her own version of autopilot, mentally turned off because of emotional and physical exhaustion. All she could see was Kanan this morning, trying to shave, watching him run his hand along walls, seeing his wrist bump into the ladder he was looking for to go down to the cargo hold. In the light of day cycle she realized that navigating her ship would not be as easy as knowing it for years. She had never realized what navigating the ship would be like for a handicapped person. There were hatches to step over, ladders to find, doors to thumb open, holes to fall through. She shuddered at the thought of Kanan and the ladder to the nose-gun in the cockpit, stepping over open air by accident and falling down. Even familiarity with the ship wouldn't mitigate all of it, and as dearly as she loved this ship, her ship, she wondered if she shouldn't trade it in for something more accommodating for Kanan's injury. Sabine was already going into deep dives in how to modify living for someone with Kanan's injury, lists of things to buy, ideas on how to keep Kanan's life full and robust. Ezra had left when she said that, and Hera had winced at Sabine's choice of words.

Kanan's life had always been full and robust, saying that it wasn't now was admitting that this was a problem. No, that wasn't right. They all knew it was a problem, but not everyone was ready to actually face it yet. Ezra barely looked at Kanan, Zeb was starting fight after fight, Sabine was fighting to make the case for implants and cybernetics and Hera... Hera wasn't sure what she was doing other than watching him sleep and holding him at night as he allowed himself to break. During the day she barely spoke, barely ate. All she could manage was maintaining a ship that might or might not be safe for her partner and wait for her mind to process the unthinkable.

Kanan...

She shook her head. Her eyes were burning from sleep deprivation and being emotionally strung out. She needed caf. Lots of caf. Why hadn't she had caf yet, anyway?

… Because Kanan always brought it to her. Force...

She got up and rubbed her temples. So many things she would have to get used to...

She walked down the hall, passed the turret ladder and down the hall to where the galley was. Hera couldn't remember the last time she had to get caf herself, Kanan was always so considerate in that respect, always sensitive to her needs and rising to meet them. Even when it caused him pain... Hera still remembered Kanan's words when the rebellion had first formed, how uncomfortable he was with a military campaign. He stayed because of her, she knew, because it wasn't in him to abandon someone who needed help, even for self-preservation. And before he left... what he had said... He had managed to believe in the rebellion, even after so long, even after everything he had been through. He had supported her through everything.

It was time she did the same.

She would make him a cup of caf. Yes, that would be a good place to start. The rest could come later.

Hera entered the galley with... not a smile necessarily, but a sense of purpose, a means to make life even the smallest bit bearable, a way to cope through a time so trying that Hera didn't know how they were going to pull through.

That was when she saw Kanan. His tail of hair was off-centered, a piece of his sweater hung out over his belt, and his boots were mismatched. He stood at the counter, fingers running along the edges in wide sweeping gestures, looking for something. The cooktop was on, the induction red with heat, and on it was the caf pot. Kanan was silent, but there was a fierce frown on his face. His head turned towards Hera, not quite enough. "Sorry," he said. "It's taking longer than I thought to make the caf." There was no bitterness, or self-loathing, or even depression in his voice. It wasn't light, like it was supposed to be, but there was a matter-of-factness to it that made Hera rush to put a hand to her mouth and stifle a sob.

"Love..." she bit out, but she couldn't finish the thought, moving to the other side of the galley and throwing her arms around him. Sadness overwhelmed her, and she thought she would break herself, right there for everyone to see, instead of the safety of their bunks. She squeezed, and Kanan understood like he always did. One arm left the counter and wrapped around her shoulders.

There was nothing right about this. How could he be so... so normal in the face of all that had happened to him? How much more could be taken from him before he finally just collapsed under the weight of it all? But it wasn't in Kanan to just give up, if it was he would have been dead during the Purge, and here he was, still alive and still trying to survive. "You win by surviving." He had said it over and over, sometimes as a solemn vow, sometimes as a hollow victory, sometimes as a mantra to himself, and Hera couldn't let herself demean it by crying here in the middle of the ship. She pressed him even closer before pulling away, trying to find something light to say, something normal.

"... What's taking so long?"

"Someone, probably Sabine, rearranged everything so I can't find anything," Kanan replied, his free arm sweeping the counter again. "Caf is always in this corner, right by the pot, but it's not there anymore, and I don't know where she put it." Hera saw he was right, and she pulled away to start looking through the storage cabinets. "I don't think," Kanan continued, "That she realizes I already had an order. The only cabinet that would have needed to be labeled was this one." He reached up and fumbled his knuckles against one of the cabinets, knocking on it. Curiously, Hera opened it and saw that it held a mishmash of dried goods, things the crew rarely ate or used only in emergencies, a place that wouldn't be accessed often enough for Kanan's neat and orderly mind to remember what was what without his sight. She opened another and found the cookpots stacked and neat, but not in Kanan's order, and Hera quietly resolved that she was going to kill Sabine for her well-intentioned efforts.

Eventually she found the caf and touched Kanan's arm, tracing down the length of it and putting the package in his hand. He smiled wanly and opened the package, sniffing it and reaching for a spoon he had already pulled out, fingers tracing the counter until he found it. Two steps sideways and he was at the cookpot, and the boiling water was a beacon for him. "There," he said, mixing as he said it. "I'll be up in ten minutes."

Hera hesitated, picturing Kanan with two cups of caf trying to go up to the cockpit. She didn't want to doubt him, but she didn't want to invite disaster either; and she wasn't sure if she should ask if he would be okay, or if that would just hurt his sense of independence further. Her indecision was its own giveaway though, because Kanan's bandaged face turned serious. "I need to do this," he said simply.

Hera couldn't deny him that, and she nodded absently before catching herself. "Don't be late," she said softly, all of her mixed up feelings bleeding through the words.

It took him twenty minutes, and there was a distinct stain on his sleeves, but he came to the cockpit with caf for her and for him. Hera thought it should count as a small victory, but she was too heartsick to feel it.

She had a couple of flux regulators on her lap that night, cable cutters and wires and splitters and tape spread out on the floor as she guarded Kanan's sleep. This time he woke not to a nightmare but to a memory. His hands shot towards his eyes and he rolled over – or tried to, twisted in blankets as he was, and scrambled backwards into the corner of his bunk. He was blind to outside stimulus, recoiled to Hera's touch, gulping air as he tried to differentiate between memory and reality. Hera stayed close but out of reaction radius, giving him time to settle into the newfound darkness before she tried to get his attention.

"You're on the Ghost, love," she said softly. "You're safe."

He took an uneven gulp of air. "Where's my lightsaber?" he asked. "I can't find... I can't find my lightsaber..."

Hera counted to ten in her native language as the pain of what he was asking overtook her. He didn't even feel safe on the ship anymore. She took the two pieces and placed them on his lap. Kanan assembled them instinctively, gripping the metal cylinder in his fists and breathing, just... breathing. Hera sat next to him on the bunk, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and waited for him to pull himself together. She listened to his breathing go from ragged to even, jerky to slow, and she could just make out his heartbeat through his back as it regulated. The memory passed, he slowly felt safe again, and he leaned into Hera, bumping his head to hers, nuzzling his nose into her cheek. "The last thing I saw... the last thing I'll ever see... were the red blades coming for me," he said, voice barely a whisper. "You should have been the last thing I saw."

"I know, love. I know."

"I didn't want it to go like this... I thought if we could just learn more about the Inquisitors, find a way to fight back because I'm such a terrible duelist. I just wanted knowledge... I didn't want... this... I'm sorry..."

"Shh, it's okay love."

One fist detached from the 'saber, wanting to touch her. His fingers slid over her chest by accident, he jerked back at the mistake and mumbled an apology before trying again. He found her shoulder and pulled her into a hug, and his body started to shake as he broke again. Hera guided him to lying down, joining him on the narrow bunk, letting his agony wash over her and meld with her own. She shook with him, burrowing her head in his neck, hands grasping at his back as she failed to stay strong for him. Hands traced her lekku roughly, hurting the sensitive membrane of her head tails, but she bore it because he needed the touch, needed to feel the reality he could no longer see. They held each other through the storm, the shuddered sobs and the pain and the tears Hera shed for them both.

"I can't let it go," he moaned. "I have to let it go and I can't..."

"What?" she asked. "What can't you let go?"

"This..." he said, and he pulled up his hand and moved it in front of his face. "A Jedi lets go of emotion, releases her feelings to allow the Force inside. I should be able to let it go. I have to let it go..."

"Oh, Kanan," Hera said. "Even Jedi can't be expected to let something like this go so easily."

"I don't have enough training... I never did..."

His insecurities had taken him over now; it was not the first time but it was one of the worst. Kanan's mix of survivor's guilt and incomplete training had created a man who was never completely sure of his footing, and it was in times of failure that it hit him the most. Hera couldn't imagine a greater failure for Kanan: the loss of Ahsoka, his own sight, the pain he had caused Ezra, all of it feeding into his self-doubt and making him like this. Hera assured when she could, hugged when she couldn't, and kicked him when he went too far, as she had often done in the past. By the morning he had finally fallen back asleep, and Hera left him to his rest as she made her way to the cockpit. Chopper warbled at her to sleep herself, but her little astromech knew better than to try and make her. She sat in her seat, rubbed her burning eyes, her temples, the base of her lekku, trying to feel something other than despair.

She might have napped, she wasn't sure, only that the next thing she really was aware of was the muffled sound of a crash from Kanan's room, and she was on her feet in an instant, darting to his bunk and punching the door open. Kanan was in a ball on the floor, having tripped over the work she had brought and then forgotten in his room, the wires and cutters and splitters.

Hera cursed in her native tongue. "My fault," she said quickly, falling to her knees. "I left everything here and-"

"It's fine..."

"I'll clean it up, it won't happen again-"

"Hera-"

"I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry—"

"Hera!"

A hand reached out, bumping clumsily at her chest before finding her shoulder, and Hera looked up from the cables to see Kanan looking at her, the cloth gone, cauterized damage in its naked horror as he tried to smile through the ugliness. "I should have watched my step," he said softly, gently. "I know you work when you're like this. I wasn't thinking."

The sudden, irrational desire to hit him exploded in her mind and she left before she acted on the impulse. She shoved everything into her quarters, on her bunk, and stomped back to the cockpit. She had just been worrying about him walking around the Ghost, the last thing she needed was to add to the anxiety with her own thoughtlessness. She collapsed into her seat, taking a deep breath and wondering how any of this would ever be okay.

The caf was half an hour late, and she didn't even have the energy to be happy that there was no stain on his sleeve. She spent the rest of the day in the engine room, sandwiched between pipes and cables, tweaking and refining and wishing very badly that work could take her mind off of what she was really thinking about. Food was in the form of a protein bar grabbed from the galley, not even glancing at Zeb and Sabine as they were fighting over... something. A small, barely functioning part of her mind told her that she needed to break it up, whatever it was, that it was her job to keep the crew's spirits up, but she couldn't fathom doing such a job when she herself couldn't bring up her own spirits. She didn't see Ezra at all, and that small voice in her head insisted that was a bad thing, but she couldn't find it in herself to do what she needed. She hid in the engine room, lethargic and trying to be productive.

She heard him come in because he bumped into the doorframe, boot banging into something and she startled – not dozing exactly, but jerking back to the reality of where she was. The thought of Kanan navigating the engine room was terrifying, and she started to shimmy out of the pipes she was caught between to get to him, to prevent him from hurting himself as he looked for her. A hand touched her knee, and Hera looked down to see him smile in victory before tracing his fingers up the length of her body, feet shifting slightly as he made his way closer, and finally he cupped her cheek.

"Working hard, I see," he said.

Hera didn't even have the energy to react to the woefully tasteless humor. She made a face and started to wiggle out from the pipes again. "I could have come out, you know," she said.

"No, you wouldn't have," Kanan replied, half a grin on his face. "When was the last time you slept?"

He had no right. No right to look after her when he was the one who was suffering so much. She put a hand on his shoulder and finally found enough space to get out from the narrow confines she had been working in. Her boots thunked to the floor and she put a hand to her hip in the tiny hallway. "I'm fine," she said.

The half grin had left, Kanan was serious now, and oh, how she wanted to see the blue-green eyes narrow. "Hera, you can't keep looking after me at night and pulling a full shift during the day. We both know you will work yourself to sickness while you try to process everything that's happened. Bad enough I'm... like this... We can't have you down, too."

"Kanan..."

"Come eat with me," he said over her. "I finally got Sabine to put everything back the way it's supposed to be. It's a little overcooked, but I have some soup made and it's getting cold. Come on."

It was such a Kanan thing to say and do, even with everything like it was he was still trying to be himself. She smiled weakly, and helped him out of the engine room and back to the galley. The soup had sugar instead of salt, Kanan couldn't read the label anymore, and they both made faces when they realized the mistake. He had gotten better at eating, feeling for spoons and bowls and nothing spilled as he moved through the meal. Hera watched in mute fascination, seeing all the changes that came to even small things. She felt sick to her stomach, and she ate her soup without complaint.

That night she watched him sleep again, datapad in hand this time as she looked over some of the modifications Sabine had suggested and the maintenance lists and the growing supply list. They would have to dock somewhere soon and make their purchases, and Hera wasn't sure she should ask the Rebellion to reimburse them. Senator Organa would pay for it without question, his support of the Rebellion was unshakable and his care for its members undeniable – and that made it hard to ask, because she didn't want to put him in danger by linking his finances (however cleverly diverted and shelled and untraceable) to the recuperation of a known rebel Jedi. Income had always been a problem, and Hera didn't quite trust Zeb yet to take an op and not come back a bloody mess, even with Sabine to corral him. Ezra was out of the question, the child hadn't even started putting himself back together yet, and Hera didn't want to guess how long that would take. She still couldn't understand how Kanan was functioning so well under the circumstances, and if she thought about it too hard she was certain she would burst into tears and never stop.

He shouldn't have left in the first place. He shouldn't have gone off to fight another Sith, shouldn't have risked his life and Ezra's and Ahsoka's to learn how to fight back. Kanan of all people was the hit-and-run kind of fighter; small hits, quick strikes, and then disappear before things got too hot, before the Empire realized a Jedi was still alive. He never went on the offensive, the whole trip had been such a huge break in character and she couldn't understand why.

No, that wasn't right. She understood why, but she didn't understand why alone. They had been partners for years, knew each other inside out, had been there for each other and bled for each other and protected each other and fought for each other. All of their major milestones had been together: their first recruit, their first successful op on Gorse, their first rescue, their first failure, their first loss. What had made Malachor so different? What had Master Yo-whats-his-name said that made it so important to not have his family around? To not have her? How many times had she told Ezra that they would support him, how many times had she offered comfort to Kanan as he struggled to come to terms with being the last Jedi? Why... why did it have to hurt so much?

A hand reached out and touched her knee, and she looked over to see Kanan, his head tilted in her direction, brow furrowed. Not a nightmare, or a memory; this was new.

"What's wrong?" she asked, putting the 'pad down.

"Too loud..."

"What is? The power converters or the engines?"

"Your thoughts..."

Hera froze, green eyes wide, and in an instant her mind was completely blank with shock. How... how... Didn't he say he couldn't read thoughts, hadn't had enough training to pick out things other than strong emotions? What else could he hear? How was she thinking too loud? What did thinking loud even sound like? How-

Kanan squeezed her knee. "Too many," he said. "Distract me. Tell me a story, ask me a question, something."

Hera blinked, 'pad forgotten. "Could you always do this?" she asked.

Kanan shook his head, the harsh scars even uglier in the dim light of night cycle. "Strong emotions only," he said. "Stronger Jedi could, those with more training. It's a breach of etiquette, though, we always respected privacy."

"Then how...?"

"I don't know," he confessed. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but the burns were too new, and he changed at the last minute to rub his forehead. "Something inside me is changing."

Hera blinked again, slowly, tired and strung out and confused. She leaned forward, trying to process what he was saying. "Changing how?"

"... I don't know," he repeated, a note of frustration in his voice. Hera turned to see that the door was closed, that they had privacy in case Kanan needed to break again. "You turned your head just now," Kanan said. "You were checking the door. You want privacy."

Hera had no idea how to reply, couldn't figure out how to understand how he had just done that.

"It's not just my ears," he said, thought in his head and trying to work out what he was saying as he was saying it. "I could hear the shift, the cloth, but there was... more, somehow. I feel like I used to when I was a child, when Master Yoda had all of the younglings together with the training helmets on. We had these visors that covered our eyes, and little stun droids programmed to attack at random. We had to block the shots with the training 'sabers, and we couldn't see a thing. You had to rely on the Force to guide your hand, feed your instinct, tell you where to 'look.' When you reached the right proficiency you moved on to the next level. I feel like I have that helmet on, and all I have is the Force, and I just... I just..."

Hera almost dared to hope. "Do you see?" she asked, and she couldn't hide the emotion in her question.

Kanan shook his head. "No..." and the pain in his voice told her so much, and she was a fool for getting her hopes up, and she shuddered and felt like she was falling all over again. She buried her head in her hands and shook, unable to take any more. She broke, and she couldn't afford to while Kanan was still like this, was still injured and healing and helpless and just as broken as she. Hands touched her shoulders, and a warm embrace wrapped around her frame, and she pulled back long enough to slam her fist weakly in his chest.

"Don't get my hopes up!" she grunted, before burying her face into the crook of his neck and shaking, holding him as he held her. Everything she had been holding in poured out of her; just as Kanan had spilled over the other night, she flushed all her emotions out onto him. She told him about her fears of his walking over one of the access holes in the ship, or what ops would look like without him; she said how scared she was for Ezra and how he was taking this, mad at Zeb and Sabine, lost on what she was supposed to do, how she was supposed to feel. She wanted to support him but didn't know how and couldn't fathom how he was so blithely well-adjusted while everyone else was falling apart and what right did he have to be taking this so well? Why did he go off on his own? She was lost, so lost, and when it was done there was nothing left in her to say and finally, finally, she fell asleep.

She awoke in the arms of her partner, scarred eyes unseeing, but still looking unerringly at her.

"I'm sorry..." she moaned, empty. "You didn't need me dumping on you yet."

Kanan shook his head, one hand tracing patterns on her shoulder, the other pinned under her side. "I'm still here," he replied. He offered a wry grin. "You've been worse."

She wasn't ready for levity yet, and he sobered almost immediately. "I can't answer all of that," he said instead, still tracing patterns. "I feel like I know less than everyone else here; everyone wants to help me but no one's really thinking about it; they're doing what they think they should be. You're the only one who's thought about it, Hera, and you've been amazing." He leans forward, intent on pressing his lips to hers, but he was a little off and got the side of her nose instead.

This was the new Kanan, she realized. Still the old Kanan, still thoughtful and abashedly noble and so wonderfully tender, only now he is just a little off. For a brief moment she saw the other side of the trauma: saw that this wasn't a life-shattering event, that Kanan wasn't irreparably damaged, that he was still Kanan. Just a little off. For a brief moment she thought she could accept this when the depression finally left her, and something in her shifted. At last, she thought, the worst is over.

Kanan sighed, a soft, warm vibration in his throat and he sank deeper into the bunk. "So much better," he mumbled. "Less pressure..."

That morning he asked Hera if his sideburns were even, and she told him to hurry with the caf, she hadn't slept in days and one night wouldn't be enough to catch up. Kanan asked to be given a tour of the ship, to see how well he knew it without his sight, and Hera didn't even blink as she offered her shoulder. He took it, and it was as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Author's Notes: ... We're not sure what to say for this chapter, it sort of speaks for itself. This ties with Denial for best chapter in this fic.

It's important to note once again that grief is a sliding scale, one doesn't go through the stages one at a time, but rather switches out sometimes one minute at a time. The "stages" per se, are more which stage one is spending the most time in. As of this posting, Mom is somewhere between anger and bargaining, for example; we're in anger and depression (so far we've skipped bargaining entirely), but all three of us have had moments of acceptance, moments when we know that we'll be okay, that everything will level out. It's not a real revelation, a moment where the light dawns and everything levels out; it's small moments where you can see passed all the radical life changes and transitions and new routines and say, "yeah, we'll get there." The two of us have had more moments of that than Mom, but even she has had them.

Hera, here, has one small moment. She's not passed it all, but now she'll have more of those moments until they're the norm instead of the depression.

Anyway, we hope you enjoyed the fic. There's one more fic that has been beta'ed; after that our poor beta needs to catch up with the others. It was a fun summer though. School starts next week and we're back to teaching.

Thanks for all the reviews and the well wishes. They helped immensely