A/N: God help and forgive me; I'm coming at you with something that is not a one-shot. And I just want to let you know upfront that I have an awful track record with multi-chap fics, but…ever since the first season four trailer dropped and we heard Kanan say "When are you going to feel you've done enough for this rebellion?" I've had a big, fat bee in my bonnet to write about how Kanan and Hera dealt with the aftermath of him finding out the crew is a rebel cell. I feel like it could have gotten pretty ugly, and I love angst, so here we are. It'll be a little AU around the beginning of season two, because this is fan fiction, after all. The inspiration for this piece was the Johnny Cash cover of U2's "One;" hence, the title. Hope you enjoy!

"The Force was a death mark…He didn't want it complicating his world, making him feel like somebody's prey again. And he didn't like being reminded about what had happened in that other life." –A New Dawn

One

Chapter 1

He'd been aboard a Star Destroyer, and now he wasn't. They'd been digging in his mind for information, and now they weren't. He'd been in pain, and now he was better.

He wasn't having trouble wrapping his mind around any of that; it seemed pretty cut-and-dried, for now. What he was having trouble with was how his life had changed, just now, this instant, without his permission. Kanan had questions, and then he saw the woman climbing down from the cockpit and all it took was one glance at her utility belt to tell him everything; he only knew of one person to wield two lightsabers.

To any Jedi his age, she would have been instantly recognizable. Kanan was pretty sure he'd have been able to recognize her if he was drunk and stumbling through a dark alley. He didn't need to her hear introduce herself; he already knew her and his stomach dropped into the soles of his shoes, even farther than it already had when he heard Bail Organa refer to his crew as a rebel cell.

They could call themselves whatever they wanted, but the presence of Ahsoka Tano made it real. She was the kind of person who made things happen, and she always had been. Oddly enough, he wasn't shocked to see her. He wasn't even all that surprised that she'd survived Order 66; Skywalker's apprentice had always seemed untouchable, a law unto herself, and the circumstances surrounding her departure from the Temple only solidified that reputation. What the Togruta had been up to over the last fifteen years, how she had become Fulcrum, Kanan could only speculate. He was curious, but only idly so; what he really wanted to know was why Hera was the only other person in the room not eyeing Ahsoka's twin lightsabers in awe.

"Karabast," Zeb murmured beside him. "Two Jedi in the same room. Ever think you'd see the day?"

Before Kanan could answer, Ezra's head whipped around. "I'm a Jedi and Kanan and I are in the same room together all the time."

The Lasat rolled his eyes. "We don't have time to name all the reasons why you don't count."

Ezra pulled a nasty face while Hera pursed her lips in disapproval and Ahsoka smothered a smile. Kanan hardly registered what was going on. His mind was reeling. He tried to think of how many times Hera had mentioned Fulcrum, her most trusted contact.

If he'd known about this years ago, known who she really was—

"Hey, you're looking pale," Sabine said, nudging him with her elbow. She kept her voice low so that only the two of them could hear.

"Yeah, well, it's been a bit of a day," he answered dryly. She arched an eyebrow, gauging him.

"You're uncomfortable with this."

"Like I said," he repeated, weighting his words, "it's been a bit of a day."

"Right." Sabine was silent for a beat. "Well," she said lightly, "it's about time for some food. Since I helped rescue you from a Star Destroyer today, how about you repay me by finally giving up the recipe to your special stir-fry sauce?"

He rolled his eyes and almost laughed at the droll question. "Corellian brandy," he said, "eighty-proof. But don't tell Hera."

Hearing her name, the Twi'lek turned with a smile. "Don't tell Hera what?" Her smile faded quickly as she studied his face. "Let's get you resting, love."

"You've all had a long day," Ahsoka said by way of excusing herself. "I look forward to talking with you more after you've had a chance to recuperate." Kanan shifted; she was addressing the room, but she made eye contact with him.

If she calls me Caleb, he thought blackly, I'm going to punch her in the teeth.

He kept that sentiment to himself, but it must have shown on his face in that imperceptible way Hera was so aggravatingly good at picking up on. Her eyes never left him. Not while she was treating his bruises and burns, not while he tried to eat dinner, not after everyone else went to bed. It was slightly unnerving, yet he couldn't quite bring himself to leave her side; one of the worst parts of his ordeal had been not knowing if he'd ever get to look into those eyes again, and even if he was feeling…conflicted about things, he wasn't ready to be without her.

So there he sat, on the closed sani lid, while she took a shower. He'd wandered in after she'd already gotten in and started the water, but he was able to tell the exact moment she started to unwind. She sighed and hummed as the water reached peak temperature, steaming up the small room. He didn't smell soap right away; a tell-tale sign that she was simply standing under the showerhead letting the heat and the water pressure knead her neck and shoulders. It was her favorite small luxury.

"Tense?" He asked.

"Not anymore." The soft floral smell of her soap rose in the air and Kanan knew without watching how her shower routine would progress: head and lekku first, neck and shoulders, arms, torso, etc. Then she'd rinse, linger just a moment more before shutting the water off. When she opened the shower door, he wordlessly handed her towel to her and she took it with a smile.

"I still think it's weird," he said, watching her dry her feet first before she stepped out of the shower.

"Huh-uh—we're not revisiting that." He smirked half-heartedly and she frowned. "Why don't you go to bed, Kanan?"

He shrugged. "I'll go when you go."

She gave him a sidelong glance as she continued to towel off, pulling on her underwear and sleepshirt after she did so. She stepped over to the sink next, brushing her teeth, applying facial moisturizer, doing the ordinary things he'd seen her do a thousand times. She propped a foot up on his knee, using him as a stand as she smoothed lotion over her skin, alternating legs. She was close enough that he could finger the jagged scar spanning across her hipbone. He couldn't remember how she'd gotten it. He just remembered that it'd bled like crazy and she'd been sour about not being able to sleep on her side for the weeks it took to heal. He spread his hand over her hip, feeling the warmth of her skin, making sure she was actually there. Touching her felt so surreal after the nightmare of the last ten days.

He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "I woke up on a Star Destroyer this morning."

"I know, love." Her voice was low and heavy and he could feel it resonate through her skin. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. His mouth moved silently as he tried to find words; none would come. She held out her hand and he took it, letting her lead him to his cabin. He sat on the edge of his bunk and she helped him undress: boots first, trousers, and then his shirt. Her eyes were continuously drawn to the burns and bruises the Empire had left him, but she didn't say anything. Her hand felt like a comforting balm as she stroked his cheek.

"I don't think I can sleep," he said quietly. Her head tilted to the side.

"What do you need?"

"Stay with me."

She nodded and crossed the room to dim the lights before she climbed in the bunk next to him. He lay on his back and she coiled on her side, resting her head on his shoulder. Absently, he stroked the part of her lek that had fallen across his chest. She was still, breathing soft and slow, but he didn't let that fool him into thinking she was anything other than awake. He counted her respirations in groups of ten, just to give himself something to do other than think about what he'd been trying not to think about: they were a rebel cell. Ahsoka Tano was Fulcrum.

Hera had known about it all, and that settled on him heavier than anything else did.

Hera was dying to tell Kanan everything: how hollow she'd felt with him gone, how what the Inquisitor had done to him sent white-hot rage through her veins, how she felt relieved and whole in the brief moment he'd hugged her.

But she'd seen his eyes, the deeply unsettled look in them when he realized they were in the rebellion, when he realized Fulcrum was a Jedi, when he realized she'd known all along. Instinct screamed at her to keep her mouth shut until he was ready to bring it up. She hoped it wouldn't take long—she only had to look at him to tell he wasn't alright. Yet even though she knew he had to be upset with her, he stayed close. Part of her took comfort in that; she'd always been far more of a touch-me-not than Kanan and it was always a bad sign when he wanted to isolate himself.

He was anything but isolated now, holding her as they lay together in his bunk. His hand moved softly over her skin, touching her lek in an intimate way that didn't have anything to do with sex. He did that sometimes, when he wanted to assure her he was there, everything was fine. Everything wasn't fine, but if he needed space to get his thoughts together, she was going to give it to him. She determined to stay awake beside him all night, alert to every shift he made, every change of his breathing, ready to be there for him if he needed her.

The sound of her name shook her from a light sleep.

"Hera," he said again.

"I'm here," she murmured, slurring the words just a little.

"Can we talk?"

"Of course." She started to sit up, but he squeezed his hand on her shoulder.

"No," he said. "Let's just—"

She settled back against him, ignoring how uneasy she felt about not looking him in the eyes. "What is it?"

"How much did you know about Fulcrum—before?"

Hera inhaled sharply and her pulse spiked; she hadn't expected they'd do this now. "I didn't know her name before today," she said slowly.

He nodded and there was a long pause. Too long. "Did you…" He fought for the words. "Did you know she was a Jedi?"

"Not—not at first." Hera remembered the day she'd met with Fulcrum the first time after communicating via transmissions for so long. There'd been something in her posture and carriage, her self-assured grace, her tactical skill, the way she talked about the Republic and the Clone War—it had all reminded Hera of the Jedi she'd seen as a child on Ryloth. Kenobi, Windu, Mundi and the others. The second time they met face to face, she'd seen the lightsabers swinging freely on her belt and asked point-blank.

"You're very astute, Hera," Fulcrum said. She paused, nodding. "I was a Jedi."

"You're so open about it," she murmured incredulously. Kanan still had nightmares about Order 66, could barely say the word Jedi, and she knew he wouldn't be caught dead wearing his fully-assembled lightsaber on his belt for all to see. He was still closed to that part of himself, so scared, but maybe— "Are there others?"

"There have been." It was a careful answer and a flicker of grief passed in the Togruta's eyes. "The Empire…has ways of taking care of survivors."

Hera felt gutted at the idea of the Empire taking care of Kanan; it showed on her face.

Fulcrum narrowed her eyes. "You know someone," she guessed.

"My…" She bit her tongue against the word lover as it rose unbidden. "My partner. He's a survivor. He—he won't talk about it much. He's only just starting to tell me things. I catch him meditating, sometimes. I see…such a strength in him. He could still be a great Jedi." Hera fumbled over her words, felt like she was betraying Kanan by being so open with Fulcrum about his business.

Fulcrum understood, and evidently decided not to press the matter. "Encourage when you can, but don't push, Hera. For all of us—myself, the survivors I've come across—what happened to the Jedi…it's a wound that will never fully heal. We all carry the scar differently."

Hera nodded, more than a little surprised to hear Fulcrum speaking about something so personal. "Do…you think it would help him, knowing about—about you?"

"Do you?"

She did not—not back in the days when merely alluding to the Clone War or the Jedi put a skittish look in his eye and made her afraid he'd run. So she'd kept it from him, and it had been the right thing to do at the time.

"I didn't know for sure until four, maybe five years ago," Hera said after a long, weighted silence. He shifted his hold on her, turning on his side, tucking her head under his chin. He sighed heavily.

"I would have run, back then," he said, "if you'd told me." They both knew it was true.

"That's what I was afraid of." She shivered, tired and overwrought. "I couldn't stand for that to happen."

"I know." He kissed the crown of her head and that was the end of it.

Except that it wasn't.