A/N: Wrote this for Fictober Day 11: Child. (Late, I know.) It was an idea which had been nagging at me for quite some time, since I never was happy with the conclusion of "Hera's Heroes." It ended a little too happily, so obviously I had to fix that. Consider this a slight AU. It started out on the pretense of one idea and ended with another. Sorry if it's all over the place. Critiques are welcome-I've had a hard time objectively evaluating my own work lately.

Also, if I don't get Disney XD, how am I going to watch Rebels next week?! Please tell me it's uploaded to Amazon the next day.

Better

"Come, daughter. I will brief you on Slavin's defenses."

The group in the common room broke up and everyone peeled off in different directions. Hera thought it odd that her father wanted to brief her alone; perhaps the condition on Ryloth was worse than he let on. As she led him to her cabin, she bit the inside of her lip anxiously. She'd left Ryloth long ago, but it was still home. As soon as the door closed behind them, she turned to Cham, a crease between her eyes.

"How bad is it really?"

He pursed his lips. "It's bad enough, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh." Hera visibly relaxed. She sat on her bunk and crossed her legs, looking almost childlike. "What's on your mind?"

"Hera," he began hesitantly, "why the sudden interest in the kalikori?"

For a second, she didn't know how to answer; she'd been looking forward to inheriting the kalikori from the time she was a little girl. Her father knew that. She realized, with no small amount of horror, that he was trying to broach a different subject, and didn't know how.

"I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're asking," she said at last.

Cham's eyes widened and his face flushed a little. "Always direct," he muttered. "And-?"

"And I'm not planning to be."

An unreadable expression flicked across his face. "Hm."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me that you, of all people, are anxious to have grandchildren."

"It's not that exactly."

"Even if...neither of us has the time for it, father."

"Time," he said heavily. His face was somber. "That's what worries me, child."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, and then drew together in a frown. "I'm only twenty-seven. I've still got at least a good ten years to be able to-"

"I'm not talking about your ability to bear children, girl," he said sharply, flushing again. "Although..." He trailed off, remembering the difficulty his wife had in conceiving and carrying a child. Hera watched him, deeply unsettled. Cham jerked his chin toward the door. "Kanan Jarrus, a Jedi fugitive-how much time do you think he has, hmm? Or you, Hera? How long before one or both of you is killed?"

Hera gasped softly, taken aback by his bluntness. "We've always managed to come out on top," she murmured.

Cham shook his head gently and he knelt in front of Hera's bunk, taking her hand. "I know you are not that naive."

"No." She pulled her eyes away from his; the admission stung.

"What do you want from your life, Hera? To fight the Empire for the rest of your days? Never put down roots-never have a family?"

"My crew is-"

"Your family," he finished. " I know. And I'm-I'm grateful you have them. Force knows I wasn't there for you when you needed me."

Hera swallowed. "But?"

Cham got up from the floor and sat on the edge of Hera's bunk, still holding her hand. "When the war came to Ryloth, I wanted something better for you than a life of oppression. So I fought for our world, Hera, with everything in me. But I lost sight of why. I took you and your mother for granted, and then I lost you both."

All Hera could do was nod and blink in disbelief. They'd never talked about this-not even close. "I was angry for a long time, but now I...I understand."

"I know you do." His words were heavy. "I see too much of myself in you, child, but I wanted better for you. I never wanted you to know what it is to wake in the night and have only memories and regret for company."

"When I wake in the night," she said tightly, "Kanan is there, and I don't regret a single moment of the last ten years."

"But how long will that last?" She couldn't answer. "Have you told him you love him, Hera?"

She'd been looking at her lap, but she snapped her eyes to his and pulled her hand away, defensive. "You don't know anything about it."

Cham grunted. "I know I've seen the way you look at him. I've seen the way he looks at you, even blind. You can't tell me that you don't want-"

"I do!" Hera snapped, suddenly angry. "Of course I do! I want-I want a child with Kanan's eyes and mother's name and I want to fly this ship just for the fun of it, and I want to turn my back to what I see in the galaxy, but I can't. Sometimes, I-" She stopped short, taking a few shallow breaths as she closed her eyes. "I imagine what it would be like if Kanan and I walked away from everything, if we did...have a baby." Her cheeks flushed a very dark green; she had never admitted that aloud. "And do you know how that daydream always ends?"

Cham shook his head.

"It ends," Hera continued, regaining her composure, "with my child living in a galaxy ruled by an Empire that hates non-humans and people of mixed species. It ends with my child living in a galaxy where Twi'lek women are still sold into slavery in droves, objectified and demeaned. It ends with me living in constant, mind-numbing fear that my child will inherit her father's Jedi powers and be hunted for them. It ends with me using that fear to fight in this rebellion. It ends with me becoming an absentee parent." She paused, weighing her next words. "I'm too much like you." There was no accusation in her tone, only raw honesty. "And I want better for my child than that."

Cham was silent for several moments and Hera searched his face, pleading with him to understand. "We will retrieve the kalikori," he said finally, "but Hera, look to it-to your future-as a reason to fight, and not an excuse."

She nodded slowly, tucking his words into her heart as they joined the others. As they drew up their plan to breach the Syndulla home, she could feel Cham watching her intently. She smiled at him and said as they left the ship, "It'll all turn out right. You'll see."

She wasn't talking about the mission.

He sighed. "I hope so, child." He watched her leave with Ezra and he shook his head.

"Everything okay?"

The Jedi's voice came from behind him and Cham turned. He considered his answer for a moment as he looked at the man his daughter couldn't quite give her heart to. "I pity the Empire for having to reckon with her," he said at length. And that was true enough.

Hera thought a lot about what her father said about having a reason to fight, and not an excuse. She understood what he was saying, but she found she had no short supply of either after the mission went wrong and the kalikori was lost to Thrawn. Her anger burned long and slow.

So did her sorrow.

But she wasn't sad about the kalikori itself; not really. It was just a thing, an object, and Hera had never been materialistic. She was devastated over losing what it represented to her: hope.

A part of her had wanted to believe that getting the kalikori would symbolize hope for an unknown, happy future. A part of her had known better. Lying in bed that night, she pressed a hand to her abdomen. Her skin was firm and taut, her womb empty, and she was afraid it always would be. Her heart ached; how strange it was to mourn something she'd never had, a future she'd never even expected to see realized.

"Hey," Kanan said softly from beside her, "you're upset about something and it isn't the kalikori. Talk to me."

She wanted to. Stars, how she wanted to tell him everything. But she knew that if she poured her heart out to him now, she'd take his hand and they'd walk away from everything and never look back. Hot tears streaked across her temples. "No," she said, voice breaking. "I just-I can't, Kanan. I can't."

It was a testament to his newfound depth of patience that he didn't turn defensive or try and push her, as he once might have done. She was sure that he was surprised by her rebuff-she could feel it in the way he shifted in the bed-but his only response was a slow intake of breath and a slow release. "What can I do to help?"

Her answer was immediate. "Hold me."

Without another word, Kanan opened his arms to her and she melted into him. He touched her tenderly, sweeping his fingertips across her shoulders and spine, sensing her need for contact and comfort. Her mind began to quiet and her anxious thoughts grow dim. She laid awake long after he fell asleep. The rise and fall of his chest was steady against hers.

Her father was right; there was no way to know how long she and Kanan had to be with each other. But Hera knew morning was at least several hours away, and that was enough for now. She drifted into a dreamless sleep, conscious of his closeness and nothing else.