"Any excuse to be in her company was a good one, as long as she didn't push the matter. Hera knew one little thing about his past now…He hoped she'd figure out it had no bearing on who he was. If delivering pinpricks to the Empire was what gave her a thrill, he could certainly help her without getting into all that." –A New Dawn

One

Chapter 2

Kanan eventually fell asleep, lulled both by devastating exhaustion and Hera's soft skin. He slept hard all night and most of the next day. It was almost sixteen hundred when he stumbled out of his cabin, stiff and sore. He grimaced in the hall lights, squinting so intensely that he almost didn't notice Ezra propped up against Hera's cabin door, right across from him.

The teen scrambled to his feet, smiling sheepishly. "Heeey, Kanan, I was just—"

"Stalking me?"

"Ahh…only a little."

Kanan rolled his eyes even as his lips tugged up in a smile. Distantly, he remembered a time during the war when Depa had been injured and he'd planted himself beside her bacta tank, unwilling to leave his master alone. "Well come on," he said. "You can stalk me to the galley while I make some caf."

"Um." Ezra trailed after him nervously. "Hera told me to make sure you had something good to eat when you got up, and by 'good,' I think she meant 'good for you' instead of caffeine—"

Kanan snorted; that was rich coming from the woman who'd been known to drink caf for breakfast and lunch like it was a complete food group. "Is Hera here right now?"

"Well, no."

He honestly hadn't expected her to be hanging around at this time of day, but somehow, hearing that she was gone put a sour taste in his mouth. "Then I'm in charge," he said flatly, "and I'm making caf."

Ezra didn't have a reply to that and stood wisely silent as Kanan prepped the caf-maker, measuring the grounds and dumping them in the filter before he added water to the tank and activated the unit. Within moments, hot liquid began to fill the carafe. He must have placed it under the dispenser incorrectly, because all of a sudden, caf was splattering and dribbling down the side. It burned the back of his hand and he jerked back; for a split second, his mind took him back to the Star Destroyer and that thing they'd used to—

"Kanan?" Ezra's voice was concerned, edged with panic. Kanan blinked a couple of times, reorienting himself to reality. He swiped his hand across his shirt, looking at the small, pink splotches of burned skin.

"I'm good," he said roughly. Ezra looked skeptical, and Kanan sighed. "You ever get tuned up real good when you were living on Lothal?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Couple of times."

"You ever get real jumpy afterward?"

"Yeah."

Kanan reached over and squeezed his Padawan's shoulder. "That's all this is."

"Maybe I should—"

The rest of that sentence was get Hera, he knew. "No."

"Yeah, okay." Ezra shuffled his way over to the table, not-so-subtly watching Kanan pour himself a cup of caf. Kanan sat across from him and opened his mouth to tell him to quit staring, but caught sight of the twin scars on his cheek. He'd forgotten about that.

"You get that checked out?"

Ezra felt the spot, wincing. "First thing this morning." He grinned. "Sabine said it made me look interesting."

Kanan rolled his eyes. "Don't go getting any ideas," he warned.

Ezra held his hands up. "Hey, I'm cool." Kanan fixed him with a withering look. "I'm working on being cool," he amended.

"Sounds more like it." Kanan let silence lapse then, drinking his caf. He felt more centered than he had last night, though he wasn't sure whether that was because he was actually centered, or because he was numb to everything. It felt a little bit like both. "Where is Hera, anyway?" He asked after a while.

"Oh, she's with Commander Sato, I think."

Kanan's face scrunched. "Who?"

"Our new…boss?"

Boss. Commander. Rebel cell. Military. War.

Stale anger stirred in the pit of Kanan's stomach. "Let's get one thing straight." He pointed a finger. "I am your boss."

"O-kay then," Ezra said carefully, "Hera's new boss."

He liked the sound of that even less.

"It's all pretty cool, actually," Ezra continued, oblivious, "the set-up and everything. Ahsoka was telling me—what? You got this weird look on your face."

"It's…just strange," Kanan admitted, dodging Ezra's gaze. "Coming across another Jedi after so long. Especially Ahsoka Tano."

"Wait—you didn't know?" The teen's voice was incredulous.

"You should get her to show you her technique with saber Form V." He drained the last of his caf, dodging the question. "She was one of the best there was, even as a learner. And that was fifteen years ago. You could learn a lot from her." He got up from the table and threw a glance over his shoulder as he went to pour himself another cup of caf. "We both could."

"Hey." Ezra half-stood up, looking like he was ready to launch himself over the table in Kanan's direction. There was a distinctly skittish look in his eye. "You're not gonna try and dump me again, are you? Like when we thought Master Luminara was alive?"

"And make you Ahsoka's headache?" He gave a reassuring smile. "One of the core Jedi tenets is compassion, Ezra. I would never do that."

Ezra grinned broadly. "I'm glad your Star Destroyer vacation didn't put a dent in your sense of humor. It still sucks."

Kanan rolled his eyes. "Get outta here."

Ezra jumped up from the table and headed for the door. He stopped suddenly, eyes narrowed. "Hey, are you good? The Inquisitor…that was all…a lot."

Kanan couldn't bring himself to lie, but he didn't want to tell the truth, either. "I'm good enough, Ezra. Promise."

"Well, if you need anything, just—I'll be around."

Ezra left then, and that's when Kanan let his face fall. He scrubbed his hand over his eyes, completely drained. He was unsettled by what Ezra had told him about "Hera's new boss," and the "cool set-up" of this little organization, and he really didn't like how free he'd been with talking to his apprentice about Ahsoka. The words had just tumbled off his tongue. He'd spent about two decades actively avoiding his Jedi past, and now it was just all…there. And the funny thing was: deep down, he didn't really mind.

But he did mind this rebellion thing and all the rest; how could the two possibly be mutually exclusive?

He stood in the galley for a long time, a fresh cup of caf untouched in his hand, angry and at odds with himself.

And angry at Hera for putting him in this position. He didn't blame her for not telling him about Ahsoka—but how long had she known about this rebellion?

At times, Ahsoka still allowed herself to wonder what life would have been like if she'd never left the Order, if the Empire had never risen, if she'd lived her days in the Jedi Temple as she once thought she would. Specifically, she wondered what it would have been like to take and train a Padawan. There were moments when she thought it would have been an equally frustrating and humbling task to teach someone; the master-apprentice bond was like nothing else.

And then there were moments—like this one—when she was glad she was on her own; it allowed her to teach and nurture when and where she could, but ultimately leave the work to someone else.

Ezra Bridger was a livewire.

She liked him.

She'd been wary when Hera sent a transmission and said the Ghost was getting a new crewmember, a Force-sensitive. Ahsoka wondered about the wisdom of that, especially considering Kanan's past hesitance to embrace his Jedi roots. And, she knew, the increased Inquisitor activity galaxy-wide would create problems sooner rather than later. But it wasn't hard to see why Hera had oh-so-subtly talked Kanan into teaching this boy, why she obviously had a soft spot for him.

His mind moved a mile a minute, and his mouth had no difficulty keeping up. Maybe he wasn't the most focused on his training at times, but not out of any malintent. His quick grin and the mischievous quirk of his brows distracted from the quiet, contemplative side of him, but Ahsoka saw it nonetheless. He was eager, full of energy and boundless compassion—and there was also a hidden depth of sadness and anger. A wisp of darkness against the radiance of light.

Amazing that it was only a wisp, Ahsoka reflected sadly, considering everything that Ezra Bridger had lived through in his short fifteen years. He was a survivor, just as much as herself or Kanan. She hummed thoughtfully.

Kanan.

Now there was an interesting master-apprentice pair: a mouthy ex-Jedi and a mouthy street-child. Yet, it seemed to be working and working well. Not perfectly, but well. They'd been good for each other, from what Hera said. It was Ezra's concern for his master that had spurred the entire rescue, after all. They were family now, their bond irrevocable. Ahsoka understood; there was a time when she would have burned down the galaxy for her master, whether or not she should.

But the unintended consequence of Ezra's actions was that the Spectres were now integrated with Phoenix Squadron, and that was problematic. Not because the Spectres weren't needed—on the contrary. They had, over and over, proven themselves to be a highly effective team. No, it was problematic because Ahsoka had seen the look in Kanan's eyes the exact moment he realized he was involved with something he didn't want to be. She'd seen how he glanced at Hera and a half-dozen emotions flicked across his face. She'd seen his resentment and apprehension, and she could sense it in the Force now, roiling within him; she knew that Hera was mostly unaware.

The real strength of the Spectres lay with the strength of their leadership, with Kanan and Hera. And Kanan and Hera were standing on the precipice of conflict, whether they knew it or not—the kind of conflict that would tear apart their ship and their seven years of friendship faster than any explosion could.

As they left a briefing aboard Phoenix Home, Ahsoka warned Hera to tread carefully.

Make sure the two of you are on the same page, Ahsoka said. For the sake of your team, Hera.

And Hera thought blankly how unnecessary that advice was; she and Kanan were always on the same page.

She'd come back to the Ghost to find him awake, showered, and moving around. He looked better than she'd dared to hope, but there was something in his eyes, something reluctant and guarded. She followed him as everyone went to bed, leaning against his door after it closed. He sat on his bunk and leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing a hand over his face. Then he looked up at her, waiting for her to speak.

That look in his eyes…suddenly she was unsure they were on the same page.

"How are you?" She asked finally. The words were weighted.

"I'm taking it a minute at a time," he said.

She nodded. "Do you…want to talk?"

"About what happened on the Destroyer? No—no, I'm good to put that behind me."

She started to feel uneasy, knowing they were about to circle back to last night's vein of conversation. "What is it, then?"

He looked at her for a long moment, as if he was deciding whether he wanted to go down this road or not. "You were working with Fulcrum when we met, right?"

She'd been out on her own for almost a year and a half at that point. Her father had inadvertently been the one to introduce her to Fulcrum; to his everlasting chagrin, no doubt. "Yes," she said. "But we hadn't met face-to-face yet."

"Right." He paused, nodded, looked up at her. "And did you know who she was working for? Did you know you—were wrapped up in something bigger?"

"I didn't know details for a long time—years, Kanan," she admitted quietly. She saw his face flush and his hands clench and unclench on his knees, over and over. "But…yes. I knew." He was silent and it was too much. She stepped forward but he didn't move, so she stopped in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her waist.

He made an aggravated sound. "We agreed at the start it was better for only one of to know the details. I remember; I was there."

It had been his idea. They both knew it. If captured, he'd said, you can't reveal what you don't know.

But they both knew that he hadn't agreed to this.

"Kanan, I—"

"I just…need some time to get my head around it. But I'm here." He stood and walked toward her slowly, still tender from the beatings he'd been given. He placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her close. The embrace felt hollow. "Okay?" He asked after a few moments.

"Okay," she said.

It wasn't okay.

What he'd said last night was true and he meant it: it was a good thing she hadn't told him about Ahsoka in those early years. He understood that, was grateful for it, even. He hadn't been ready to work with another Jedi then, or to open up that part of himself the way he was now.

So it was good she hadn't said anything. It was.

But if he'd known, on Gorse, that he was walking into a rebellion and the possibility of another war, he'd have never boarded the Ghost. If he'd found out a year or two after, he'd have turned around and left. He wasn't sure where that left him now, six years in love with Hera Syndulla and involved with a crew, a family they'd built together.

Actually—

Stuck. It left him stuck.

A/N: This IS going somewhere. Just hang with me, if you can!