A/N: This is very, extremely AU, obviously, but I had to. Just take it for what it is. I'll just never be done weeping over Kanan and Hera's relationship.

"You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting." —J.M. Barrie

That Place Between

He supposed it was actually a little cruel, telling her about this place, bringing her here. But it didn't occur to him until it was too late; they were standing in starlight and she'd already heard his voice.

Hera spoke through pale and trembling lips. "Ezra," she whispered, breathless. "What is this place? Where—" She turned to him, eyes brimming with conflicted hope. "Where is he?"

Ezra looked at the expanse of path before them and the openings lining it on either side. He didn't hear the same voices he'd heard before—voices that seemed foreign yet familiar as they resonated in him through the Force. No—the air around them, still and cool, thrummed with the sound of Kanan's voice and Hera's answering laugh. It reverberated with the sound of her racing pulse as she stood beside him now, and with the pain and grief that was rolling toward her like a tide.

"It's…like a one-way glass," Ezra said, watching her carefully. She nodded, blinking, and her feet pulled her forward.

Each window came to life as they passed, showing something different. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason or sequence to what they saw, but in each and every window, Kanan and Hera were together.

Just as they had been when he died.

The fire's burning glow reflected in her eyes and her breath caught when she realized what she was seeing. She kept walking, tearing her gaze away. Ezra lingered just half a second behind, hoping to see it was just a bad dream he could still wake up from.

"Ezra, please," Hera whispered over her shoulder. "No."

He moved on.

Hera came to a stop in front of a window showing a dark street and a storefront. No—not a storefront, a diner. The door opened slowly, nudged by a boot. A man stepped out, holstering his weapon. He looked toward a cloaked figure standing in the street, eyes scanning quickly. It was Kanan, Ezra realized, and he was young.

Hera made a throaty sound. "Look at him," she breathed, awed.

"Who's he—"

Excuse me! The cloaked figure called. Where can I find the repulsorlift entrance to Moonglow?

Ezra gasped and a sudden grin lit his features. "Is that you? Is this when you guys met?"

"Yes." She watched intently as the images in front of them changed and shifted. The past leapt to life and they were watching a very, very young Kanan and Hera in a street fight. She'd fared better than he had.

You okay there? You speak Basic?

He looked at her, jaw slack. Words fail me.

So they do.

She studied him, curious. So, you just randomly go around sticking your neck out for people?

No! Er—almost never.

Kanan followed Hera after that, clearly smitten, and she wanted nothing to do with him. It was all spark and banter. There was no trace of the Jedi and general that Ezra knew now.

He gaped at Hera. "He was so—"

"Yes." She smiled fondly. "He was." She opened her mouth to say something else, but something caught her attention and her teeth snapped together. Hera drew toward a window ahead of them and to the left. There was nothing remarkable about the scene as far as Ezra could see, but Hera hummed softly as she stopped to watch. "I'd forgotten about this."

Kanan was laying in his bunk, barely awake, obviously very sick. Hera was kneeling beside him, taking his temperature, making him drink water, giving him medicine.

"You look—" Ezra shook his head. "I've never seen you look that worried before."

"It was bad," she murmured. "We were running out of supplies and Kanan's fever wasn't coming down. We had…raised some eyebrows in the Mid Rim, so we were stuck laying low for a while." She drew closer to the window, mesmerized as she watched Kanan intently. "And we—we'd fallen out with each other just hours before the fever hit him. It came on so violently. He was delirious. He never remembered any of it—he could barely remember his own name. I was…scared."

"What'd you guys fight about?"

She sighed. "Us."

They watched the scene silently.

Kanan. Kanan, wake up.

Bleary eyes fluttered open. Go away, Hera. Let me sleep.

In just a second. She sat on the edge of the bunk. Look at me. Hey—stay with me. There's a decent-sized settlement nearby. I'm going there to get more supplies. It'll take me an hour to get there in the Phantom; I'll be gone three hours at the most. I need you to promise to stay in bed and rest.

He shifted, turning his head on the pillow, looking away from her. His skin glistened with a sheen of sweat. What do you care?

Ezra inhaled sharply; he'd never heard Kanan speak to Hera that way. She looked utterly crestfallen at the cutting remark, both then and now.

She touched a hand to Kanan's forehead, smoothing his hair. I'll be back as soon as I can. Her voice was got up and left his cabin then, face falling as soon as she turned away from him. Kanan was asleep again before the door slid shut.

Hera pressed a hand to her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes. She reached for the image—

When her hand broke through the surface, she shrieked.

"Ezra!" She jerked around to face him. "What in—" She gasped, understanding. "This is—you can—"

"Hera, no." Ezra closed his hand around her wrist. Guilt began to choke him. He shouldn't have brought her here.

"Please—please," she begged, eyes wide. "I won't try to—" She shook her head. "What happened happened. I just—let me talk to him. Please—let me talk to him. I told you—he was so sick. He'll never remember. He lost days to that fever. Please."

He should have said no. He should have taken hold of her and made her leave. But he looked in her eyes and he couldn't. Something whispered to him, This is important. And he found himself watching her walk calmly through the portal, ready to pull her back the exact moment this was finished. He had to hold his breath and trust her. She promised she wouldn't take long.

Hera didn't feel anything. She didn't feel like she'd just crossed the barriers of time and space; it had been just like passing from one room to another. But she was trembling because here was Kanan, alive and at her fingertips. Even as sick as he was, he looked young and vibrant. There was no scar marring his eyes, no worry creasing his forehead. He looked exactly like himself, and unlike himself at the same time. There were other moments she could have chosen to do this, she knew. Moments when seeing her would have meant much, much more. But she remembered this moment, and she remembered what they'd said to each other. They'd leapt for the jugular, both of them.

He'd planned on leaving, thinking she didn't care. He'd had all he could take, he said. No real reason to stay if she was hell-bent on ignoring this thing between them.

She hadn't been able to tell him, back then, the depth of the love she felt for him. She hadn't known how. But she'd changed since then.

She sat on the edge of his bunk and the motion was enough to wake him. He blinked up at her, confused. "But you…left? Just now."

Hearing his voice almost undid her, made her feel like all the air had been sucked from the room. She shook her head, unable to speak. She laid a finger across his lips. "There was something I wanted to say before I go," she managed after several moments. "It's important, Kanan."

"Wait," he said, trying to sit up. His brows drew together. "You look—you don't—something's different."

Hera remembered dimly that she was nearly a decade older than the version of herself he'd seen moments ago. She put her hands on his shoulders, helping him lay back down. "Shh, love. You're delirious."

That much was certainly true; she looked in his eyes, glassy and swollen, and she knew he wasn't really there. She remembered his recovery and his utter horror at having been out of it for days.

"Hera," he said, frowning. "I feel like…were we fighting?"

"Yeah. We were."

"I don't remember."

She sighed. "You will." She held his hand, and his skin was hot—alarmingly so—but it felt good to touch him again. "There's something I wanted to say."

His gaze was unfocused. "Go on," he mumbled.

She leaned over, pressing her lips to his. They were dry, parched by the fever, but she didn't care. She kissed him gently, slowly. He hummed his contentment, using what little energy he had to kiss her back. Tears pricked Hera's eyes and she withdrew, placing her hands on his chest. "Be patient with me," she whispered. "Please."

His face was flushed from more than fever. "I don't understand."

"You will."

"You keep saying that."

"Kanan." She couldn't keep her voice from breaking. "I'm not—the easiest person, but—I want you to know—" She swept her hand over his face, memorizing the contours. "I love you. I won't always show it. Force knows I won't say it. But I do—I love you, Kanan."

He looked at her incredulously, like she'd handed him a moon and he didn't know why or what to do with it. His eyes slid shut. "I must be dying," he said weakly. She knew he was about to succumb to the pull of fevered sleep. "You don't have to say stuff 'cause you feel bad, Hera."

She pressed her lips together, fighting tears. "I'm not. Don't ever think that. Don't—don't give up on me, Kanan."

He nodded once, the slight motion all he could manage. He fell still, asleep. Hera sat with him for a long time. Longer than she should have; Ezra would be nearly beside himself by now. When she felt the Ghost shudder, she knew the Phantom was docking and she had to go. She bent over Kanan for the last time, kissing his forehead as she whispered a final I love you.

She already knew he'd survive this and that they'd stay together for years to come, but the part of her that remembered this part of their history remembered the hurt and the uncertainty, and she hoped against hope that somehow, this stolen moment would be enough to soothe some of that for him. She hoped that part of him would remember and know how she felt, that he'd hang onto that.

She stood up, squaring her shoulders, and turned to where she'd come from, where she saw Ezra's waiting hand. She took it and didn't look back.

Eight Years Ago

Kanan didn't feel like he was burning alive anymore; that was good. He stretched experimentally. His skin wasn't painfully tender anymore, either. Also good. He turned his head on his pillow and saw Hera sitting next to the bunk.

A strange feeling stirred in his heart and the pit of his stomach when he looked at her. Dimly, he remembered the horrible things they'd said to each other, the pain and anger he'd felt. He knew he should have felt that way still, but he didn't. Seeing her now—looking dark under the eyes as if she hadn't slept in days—he could tell she didn't feel that way, either. She was watching him with concern, unsure whether he was truly lucid or still delirious.

He smiled weakly, wanting to put her at ease. "Hey."

"Hey." She sighed her relief, shoulders sagging, and she leaned back in her chair. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah? How long's it been?"

She blew out a slow stream of air as she counted. "Five days? Almost six."

He gave a low whistle. "You should have just spaced me and saved yourself the trouble."

She paled. "Don't joke. You scared me half to death, Kanan. Especially—" She met his gaze, a crease between her brows. "Especially considering how we…left things." Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away. "I'm sorry."

Be patient with me.

Her words echoed in his mind. Had they…talked while he was delirious? Maybe—he couldn't remember. He shook his head, concentrating on what he could. "We both said things, Hera."

"And you were—right—what you said—but—" She glanced away. "Please don't go."

They'd fought because he wanted more from her. He wanted her to love him the way he loved her. Maybe they'd never make it that far, he realized dimly. But this, right now—this was her doing her best, giving him what she could. He was willing to take it. "C'mere," he said, shifting in the bunk. The movement made his head throb, but he didn't care. He opened his arms to her and she came, curling up on her side next to him. He could sense the worry, anxiety, fear that had plagued her the last few days. "I'm not going anywhere, Hera."

"You packed a bag," she pointed out, mumbling into his shoulder.

He winced; he'd forgotten that. "Yeah, well, what can I say? I have a real flair for the dramatic. You know that."

She shook her head. "This was different."

"I'm not going anywhere, Hera," he repeated. She nodded, trusting him, and let it go. Soon, she was limp in his arms, asleep. He felt fatigue coming for him, too. But something was lingering on the edges of his mind and he couldn't quite remember—

I love you, Kanan.

Oh.

"I had the strangest dream about you," he mumbled, eyes closing.

"Hmm?"

"S'why I changed my mind."

"Mm." Hera, mostly asleep, shifted so she could kiss his neck.

Kanan held her as they slept, almost grateful for the fever-dream. It was fading rapidly from memory, but he remembered how she'd pleaded with him: Don't give up on me. Her eyes had been so earnest, so loving. He'd known right then, even in the dream, he couldn't deny her anything.

I love you, he thought, even if you need me not to say it.

He was content, for now, to love her in that place between saying and feeling.