A/N: This has been in the works for a while, and seems especially poignant in the light of the series finale (speaking of things that seem especially poignant in the light of the series finale, can I shamelessly self-promote and talk about Anew for like one second?! Because wow, it was way more right-on-the-nose than I wanted it to be). Anyways, I'm still reeling and have plenty of writing to come, and PMs are welcome at any time. Read on.

After they retrieved the Y-wings for General Dodonna's unit, after Ezra and Kanan had spoken more than a few words to each other for the first time since Malachor, after Kanan had finally found her when it was all over and asked if he could stay the night, and after waking up from the best sleep she'd had in months, Hera had finally let herself believe that the hell of his absence—the tears, the paroxysms of grief, the sleepless nights—was behind her.

She was wrong.

They'd shared her quarters for the entire week, making up for lost time. Which was why, when she woke up feeling like she was falling into oblivion on the Imperial shipyard they'd just sunk and he wasn't there when she reached out, she panicked.

Her mind was addled from the nightmare—she couldn't remember if she'd gotten her team out or if they'd gone down, and the need to know was burning her up. Hera thrust herself out of bed and out into the corridor on shaky legs.

Their quarters were empty—all of them. Kanan, Ezra, Zeb, Sabine. Blankets tossed aside, sheets rumpled, like they'd been taken in the middle of the night. Her heart pounded faster with every empty room, and she raced through the ship—the cockpit, the cargo bay, the galley. Empty.

Her mouth went dry with fear—why hadn't she heard them? Why hadn't whoever had taken them come for her?

Her throat choked out Chopper's name, but even the droid made no reply. Panic gripped her in its vise; her hands, her chest, everything was shaking like she'd been pierced with a vibroblade. She half-stumbled, half-sprinted back to her room and ripped the comm from her flight suit, raising it to her lips.

"Kanan! Kanan, where are you?"

The sound of her own voice, tight with fear, sent a chill down her spine and turned her panic into a tangible thing. Streaks of fire raced up and down her lungs, and the walls of her room closed in on her. She clutched her forehead, staggering into the hallway.

"I'm coming." His reply was tense, shooting steel through her veins with its urgency.

Where was he? Where were they?

Suddenly, Hera couldn't remember if Ezra and Sabine had made it off the shipyard, and dread rose like a cold snake in her chest.

"Hera!"

Kanan's voice bounced off the walls, and despite the urgency that gripped it, was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard.

"Hera, where are you? What's wrong?"

"Here," she tried to call to him, but her voice was feeble. He appeared at the end of the corridor, moments later, and tore his mask off, running to her. His footfalls sounded like blaster fire.

"The kids—" Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. "Kanan, the kids—"

"Are fine," he said, out of breath. Blind eyes scanned her wildly, checking for damage. "They're testing night vision gear with Zeb."

"Why?" This piece of information seemed to knock the wind out of her. "It's late, it's too cold out, it's—" Panic swept through and threatened to topple her, and she bent forward, bracing her hands on her knees.

"Hera…" He touched her chin, trying to get a good look at her, and it sent a shock through her body.

She gasped, jerking away. "You're freezing."

He looked bewildered. "I was meditating outside."

"Why would you—" A violent tremor rolled through her, and she couldn't finish the question. Hera reached a hand out and braced herself against the wall. Her chest was shaking, her throat tight, her entire body fighting against her gasps for air.

"Hera, what's wrong?" Worry made his voice tight. Hera couldn't lift her eyes from the ground; she felt like she was being bent in half.

"I don't know," she said.

"Hera—"

The walls of the ship started to spin, and the lights stung her eyes.

"Karking kriff," she said, bringing a palm to her forehead. "What's happening?" Her eyes darted around them, never focusing.

He cautiously reached out to her. "I think you're having a panic attack—"

She knocked his hand away. "Don't touch me."

Kanan watched helplessly, as Hera wrapped her arms around herself and sank to the ground, rocking back and forth. Sweat had broken out on her brow.

"Hera…" He felt his own panic rise up, out of his inability to comfort her. "Try to take deep breaths—"

"You're not helping." Her voice was muffled, floating out of the gap between her head and knees.

"Sorry."

She rocked in silence for a moment, her ragged breaths filling the hallway.

"You can't just leave like that," she said.

"I—what?"

"You can't, just leave, like that," she repeated, seeming to work herself up again over the statement. Hera abruptly stood up and took a few tight steps down the hallway, then turned around, pacing back to him. Her hands were shaking.

"I—I'm sorry," he said. Kanan felt as lost as she did.

"Kark." Hera pressed her hands over her face. "How long does this take?"

He felt trapped by his confusion. "To what?"

"To end," she said, her teeth clenched together. She started pacing again, her strides tight and jerky.

"I don't know," he said. "It should pass in a few minutes—"

She'd already pushed past him. Hera's boots landed hard off the ladder in the cargo bay, jarring her. With shaking hands, she found the lever that lowered the ramp of the Ghost. Frigid air rushed into the hold, and Kanan's voice behind her just barely came over the sound of her pulse beating in her ears.

"Hera, it's freezing out there," he yelled. She was already on the ramp. The cold bit into her skin, but it was a welcome sensation to focus on, stealing the attention away from the white-hot panic eating up her chest.

"Hera—"

Two fingers, then a hand, hot on her shoulder. She jerked away, but he was face to face with her.

"You'll catch your death," Kanan said softly.

"I can't breathe in there," she said. She stepped back from him and folded her arms over her chest as if it could stifle her racing heart.

"Hera…" He reached for her again.

"Stop touching me," she snapped, nearly shoving him back. Kanan stumbled but caught his balance. He gave her what should have been a wounded look, but his eyes only held sympathy, cradling her in his gaze.

"You're shaking," he said softly.

She pulled her arms tighter to her chest and said nothing, letting the air fill her lungs like ice water. He watched her, as the tremors raging through her figure slowed. Her heart finally stopped racing, her vision cleared. The realization that her fingers were numb slowly crept its way to the front of her mind, and she took one last deep breath, feeling the cold air sting her lungs. It felt like being fully alive, like waking up after a nightmare.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said. Suddenly she was achingly cold, but couldn't bring herself to go back inside.

He took a step closer to her, but didn't reach out.

"Nothing's wrong with you," he said. "It happens."

"Not to me—"

"To everyone, Hera," he said, and something heavy in his eyes told her that he'd felt this too, more times than he'd ever tell her. She stared at him, her body and mind finally clear, and watched his breath make streams of fog in the cold.

"Let's go inside," he said. She nodded, and followed him up the ramp.

Everything in the Ghost felt too glaring, too bright. She realized how cold she was the second he shut the door behind them, and started shivering, which felt just close enough to the beginning of another attack to put her on edge.

"Let's get you warmed up," he said, even though she could see his own ears were red with cold. She followed him numbly to the galley, where he guided her into the booth seat, and the bright artificiality of the room hurt her eyes.

"The lights," she mumbled, half to herself. He dimmed them to a soft glow and then disappeared, reappearing momentarily with a blanket, which he draped around her shoulders. She pulled it around herself and closed her eyes to inhale his scent, and her shoulders finally sank down her back; her body no longer feeling under attack.

She kept her eyes closed until a waft of steam kissed her nose. He'd set a mug in front of her, dark liquid that radiated the herbal aroma of tea.

"I thought about making caf, but the last thing you need is a stimulant," Kanan said. He sat down, not close to her, but not far. She watched him through tired eyes, and he studied her as if checking for physical harm. After a moment, he leaned forward, and used his sleeve to wipe a line of sweat off her forehead.

He returned to his seat. "How do you feel?" He asked.

She just shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her body. His features were lined with concern.

"I've never seen you like that before," he said.

Hera didn't have a response for that, so she just dragged a finger around the rim of her mug. But he was watching her expectantly, probing, and she knew she owed him at least that much.

"I felt like I was breaking out of my skin," she said.

His brow creased with sympathy. She felt pathetic and feeble, to have his pity for something he'd gone through dozens of times, and said nothing more.

"Did something trigger it?" He asked.

That brought it back to her in a flash—waking up alone, his presence vanished, the sheets around her cold. Searching blindly in the dark, her empty hands, panic seizing hold in her chest. Stumbling, racing, out the corridor, through the ship, finding him nowhere, finding no one, anywhere, calling out for Chopper and hearing her cries echo off the cold metal like last words.

She looked up at him sharply. "You were gone," she said.

He furrowed his brow. Hera curled her fingers around the mug.

"I woke up, and you were gone," she said. "That's all I have to explain it."

He still looked puzzled. "That happens all the time though."

"But I couldn't find you, Kanan." They both chose not to mention the past six months, in which it had happened every day. "I couldn't find anyone."

"Zeb and the kids got called to test the new night vision scanners," he said. His voice was calm, slow and level, soothing without being didactic. "We talked about that, remember? I volunteered to take first watch, and you fell asleep."

"But you were with me," she said. She felt like a child, arguing about something she didn't understand.

"Because you were exhausted, and I needed to make sure you actually slept," he said. There was a tiny, amused smile on his lips, but he concealed it well. "You even made me promise not to stay."

Hera sank her head into her hands. It was all coming back to her now: the tasks they'd assigned during their last briefing, her sleepily mumbled orders for him to take up watch as soon as she fell asleep. But waking up in that moment, yanked from a nightmare, she'd remembered none of it—only the feeling of being violently torn from everything you loved.

"I thought… I thought you were all gone," she said. Her lips felt numb, hollow. "I was terrified."

Neither of them could remember the last time she'd told him that, and it hung heavy in the air between them. He extended his hand out on the table, palm facing up, and she took it, feeling his fingers wrap around her own.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said.

Kanan stifled a chuckle. "In that moment, I can imagine why you wouldn't want to be touched."

He looked at her, and reached up to trace the line from her forehead to her jaw, his blind eyes holding her tenderly. She watched him, aching with the realization of how much she'd missed him.

"Are you warm?"

Hera blinked; she'd gotten lost in him, and it took her a moment to process the question.

"Yes," she said.

He nodded, appraisingly, as if agreeing. "Let's get you back to bed."

She nearly protested, her voice hitched in preparation to cry out, but when she stood to follow him her legs almost couldn't lift her up. Exhaustion swept through her like a river and she braced herself against the table, her body weak.

He said nothing, and lifted her into his arms. She was too tired to argue, and instead just tucked her head against his chest.

He lay down with her, in her cabin, after he'd settled the blanket around them and turned off the light. His body was warm, comforting—the steady beat of his heart far more reassuring than hers had been when it was pounding in her ears. But there was a last, clinging shred of anxiety keeping her from slipping into slumber.

"Kanan?" She shifted just enough to lift her head, to look into sightless eyes.

"Mm?"

"I… My mother left like that," Hera said.

He frowned and sat up. "What do you mean?"

She swallowed, her mouth dry once more. "I mean, she vanished. In the middle of the night. There was an air raid, and she went to help the survivors, and… and there were none." Hera's throat went tight. "Second strike."

The air between them fell somber, and he hung his head.

"When I woke up, she was gone. The next time I saw her…" The lump in her throat swelled large enough to choke her, and she barely managed the next words. "They were pulling her body from the rubble."

Sorrow crumpled his face. He reached for her, but she shook her head.

"When I woke up, I thought—I thought I'd lost you like that," she said. "Without knowing. Without goodbye."

Her voice cracked, and she clamped her mouth shut, staring down at her hands in her lap. Kanan was quiet. Her eyes darted up to him; he was staring at the opposite wall, saying nothing. The silence in the room swelled and burgeoned like something about to burst.

"Say something," she said. Her voice lifted at the end and made it sound like a plea.

His mouth opened, but it felt like minutes before he spoke. "I don't know what you want me to say."

She was crushed before she realized that she didn't, either. They sat with their backs against the wall of her bunk, staring into the silence.

"Because Hera… that's how I feel every day."

She drew in a breath. "Kanan—"

"I don't… I don't want to sound like I'm accusing you," he said. "But every time you leave on a mission, every time you fly into battle, every time I wake up and you're not there…" He trailed off, his head hanging low.

"I worry that something's going to happen to you. That I won't get to say goodbye."

Her chest tightened, not with panic, but with guilt, and grief.

"Kanan… I had no idea," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry."

He shifted, and it almost looked like a shrug.

"There's no blame," he said. "We knew that the rebellion would only get more and more dangerous. And we signed up anyway."

Hera blinked, not sure if she'd heard him right.

"We," she repeated. Kanan gave her a curious look.

"You said we signed up for it." Hera felt anxiety rising in her chest once more. "You… you don't think it was just me dragging everybody along?"

One of her deepest and most hidden fears was buried in that question. He shook his head.

"I don't," he said. Anxiety flooded out of her. Then he looked at her, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a teasing smirk. "Well, maybe I did at first."

They both let out a tiny chuckle, and he reached out and took her hand. "But I know now that this is where I—where we—need to be."

She twined her fingers with his.

"Even…" The lump had crept back into her throat. "Even after everything that's happened?"

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

Hera turned to look at him, staring her answer in the face.

"Well… I mean that you're blind, Kanan," she said. Nausea rose in her stomach, and she couldn't look at him as she said the last words, staring instead at their hands intertwined. "You're blind. And you wouldn't be blind if it weren't for me."

A noise of dissent rumbled in his throat.

"Hera." His hand squeezed hers, then went to cradle her jaw, lifting her chin so that she was looking at him. "There's a lot of things I wouldn't be if it weren't for you."

The lump in her throat swelled with full force, and she almost couldn't hold his gaze. He smoothed the skin along her brow.

"Frankly, 'alive' is at the top of the list," he said. A laugh burst out of her despite herself, and he chuckled too, his hand dropping back to his side. Sitting next to him, feeling his shoulders shake with laughter against her own, made her heart feel lighter than it had in a long time.

She smiled at him, relieved, and retook his hand. Hera licked her lips, deciding whether to speak, and he tilted his head at her, his mouth still angled up from laughter.

"What is it?"

She picked up his hand, running her thumb over each finger. "I—I'm sorry," she said.

The smile on his face crinkled into a confused frown. "For what?"

She swallowed. "For every time you thought you wouldn't get to say goodbye."

His expression softened, and he squeezed her hand.

"It's okay," he said. His eyes lifted to hers. "It just made me believe all the more that you would come back."

Her cheeks rose in a smile even though her eyes were stinging with tears, and the realization of how much they'd been through together, and how much farther they would go, suddenly flattened her, and she leaned into him for an embrace. He held her, rocking gently, his arms around her as familiar as they were steadfast, until she fell asleep.