A/N: EXTREMELY AU. This fic prompt was given to me by WestwardGlance as he, ddaulton94 (who ended up bowing out of the challenge—boo!), and I once again decided to trade prompts. There was a twist to our game this time: all prompts were AU. I must have done something to offend WestwardGlance horribly, because he charged me with writing something where it was Hera who died in "Jedi Night" instead of Kanan. It was…difficult. Ultimately, though, this ended with a touch less heartbreak than I anticipated—hope you can agree with me! (Also, in this particular AU, Hera was never pregnant. That was a level of devastation I wasn't prepared to deal with.)

Be sure to check out WestwardGlance's "Seeing Clearly!" Seriously, you don't want to miss it.

Pieces

There were echoes of her everywhere. Even here, atop the hull of the Ghost in the last vestiges of sunset.

Kanan couldn't see the sunset, of course, but he could feel its fading warmth on his face and he could hear the evening birdsong as countless winged creatures settled in their treetops for the night, singing, It's all okay, it's all okay, it's all okay.

It wasn't all okay, but there wasn't a crushing darkness trying to swallow him whole, either. That was progress.

It had been six months since Hera died. Her fervent I love you still rang in his ears, the pressure of her kiss was still warm on his lips—

The slick of her blood was still wet on his hands.

He dragged his palms across his thighs, hard back and forth until his skin burned and the friction dampened the memory.

If he'd stopped to think about it—which he had not—he'd have realized it was a minor, morbid miracle that the AT-ATs hadn't touched off the entire fuel pod with that first shot. The miss had given them enough time to scramble aboard the gunship. The second shot landed true, sending a hail of shrapnel across the sky as Sabine piloted them away. It was a jagged shard which found Hera's side and—

And.

He'd held her as her life drained away, as her light and presence in the Force shrank to nothing. The Force itself seemed quieter to Kanan after that, as if his whole life his mind had been attuned to the hum of hers. The shrieking silence was something he was still adjusting to, but he'd started learning to fill the void with the memory of her voice, her laugh, her whisper in his ear when she'd had her arms around him.

It helped.

And so did knowing that they'd completed her and Ezra's mission; Lothal was free now.

Ezra was…wherever he was, but Kanan was alright with that. His missed his apprentice sorely, but he knew he was alright, somewhere, somehow. They'd see each other again. But for the time being, it was only Kanan, Sabine, and Chopper on the Ghost. Zeb spent most of his time on base with Rex and Kallus; the Rebellion was busy these days and it had been hard for the Lasat to adjust to living in his quarters on the ship without his roommate. How well Kanan understood.

Things on Yavin Base were quiet just now—outside, anyway. Inside, a raucous celebration following the Death Star victory. The entire base would have to evacuate soon, but preliminary reports indicated the Empire was in chaos, so for a few hours at least, the Alliance was free to celebrate and commemorate, toast to the future. The Ghost was still a dry ship, though, so Kanan sat in the outside's evening quiet with only a cup of caf in his hand.

As dusk turned to darkness, he heard Sabine's footfalls behind him and she plopped down, inhaling deeply. Then she laughed. Kanan's brows raised in amusement; the sound was not unwelcome, but not at all expected, given the events of the last few days. In fact—he wasn't sure he'd heard Sabine laugh at all since Ezra disappeared. (The teen had been able to drag a laugh out of her a couple days after Hera died, but that had been the last time.)

"What's funny?" Kanan asked.

"This guy," she said, laughing again. "Solo? Gods, Kanan—Hera would have had a field day flying orbits around him. Oh, and you should see that thing he calls a ship. Old YT-1300, you know? It's probably just as well for his sake that—"

Her laughter dried up and Kanan sensed her horror and the fresh flood of grief. "I—I didn't mean—"

"I've been thinking about her, too," he said. He pressed his hand over hers for a moment, silently reassuring her. "How I'd tell her about all this."

"All this," she repeated in a murmur. The Death Star, Alderaan, Scarif, Ezra, Lothal. "What now?"

The way she asked it told Kanan she already had a pretty good idea of what now, but wanted to feel him out. "You want to go back to Lothal," he guessed.

"Yeah." The syllable was strained. "After everything we went through there, it felt…wrong to leave and I think Ezra's counting on me—us—to watch over the place."

Kanan nodded. He'd been feeling the same. "Mind if I tag along?"

"Seriously?"

"I think Hera would understand; this was never my path. She was."

"Well," Sabine said. Surprise and relief and gratefulness colored her tone. "I guess we should start making plans."

"I guess so."

An easy silence settled and the sky had completely darkened before Sabine said, "I didn't come up here to talk to you about that."

He turned his head toward her. "What, then?"

"I was digging around on Hera's workbench for this socket wrench I needed so I could adjust the Ghost's steering assembly." She stopped.

"Did…you find it?" Kanan was unsure what she was getting at. "If you're asking if I know where it is, the answer is probably no. Hera had stuff all over—"

"I found this." She grabbed his wrist and turned his hand palm-up, placing a small object there.

He felt the piece between his thumb and forefinger. It was oddly shaped, like a pyramid, and there was a round opening on the base, as if it was part of a whole, meant to be affixed to something else. It wasn't a Kyber crystal, or anything like a Kyber crystal, but it still sang to him, connected with him.

Hera, Hera, Hera.

She'd made this. Her fingertips had caressed each plane, making sure they were level, they were smooth. Her hands had been steady and sure when she painted—the difference in texture told him it was paint—three stripes on each face, nine in all. Her lips had turned up in a fond smile because she knew him so well—

"Did she paint these green?" Kanan asked, but he already knew the answer. Sabine hummed an affirmation. He closed his palm around the object. It felt familiar, but not just because it held traces of Hera's love and care. It almost felt like— "My Jedi holocron," he said softly. "Of course she kept a piece."

After that day with Maul and the holocrons on the Ghost, she'd asked him what to do with the pieces. He'd had choice words about the Sith holocron, but about his own, he'd said slowly, "I think…it's time to let it go. I used to cling to it to teach Ezra, trying to follow the teachings of my master, and my master's master, and his master but—"

"You and Ezra were always meant to forge your own path," she'd finished. And her fingers brushing across his cheek had said, I'm proud of you.

And then she'd stepped away, looking for a broom to sweep up the pieces because she hated a mess and she hated Maul more and she wanted permanently rid of both. He stood by and chatted idly with her as she worked and he heard the pieces clink as she swept them into the dustpan. She must have picked one up and pocketed it.

Kanan knew a lot of things about Hera Syndulla that no one else did, but this one in particular: she had occasional flashes of shocking sentimentality.

He was both surprised and unsurprised to find himself holding a shard of the holocron now, something she would have taken because it reminded her of him. It was something both his and hers now. It belonged to his Jedi past, but she had fashioned it into something else, something more meaningful.

Sabine cleared her throat. "I hope you don't mind, but I checked the…I think she meant for it to fit on her kalikori." She stood up, squeezed his shoulder, left him alone.

Kanan turned the piece in his hand, over and over. It was a weight in his heart, a lump in his throat. But the barest hint of a smile turned his mouth. Twi'leks, he knew, only added to their kalikori for the most important people in their lives: children, lost loved ones.

Spouses.

He wondered how long she'd been planning to hold onto that before telling him what she wanted, how she felt. A month? Another decade? He'd have waited.

And when that time comes, how do you want to live your life?

I don't know. Guess I never really thought about it.

He shook his head and he grinned as he turned his face toward the star-lit sky. "Liar," he said.

A/N: So...life is a bit crazy for me at the moment (in a good way, I guess), so it might be a little while before you see anything from me again. (Or not-depending on time, inspiration, and how late I feel like staying up, lol.) Even this was written a week ago and made to wait for publishing. But hopefully I'll be able to squeeze a little writing in here and there-I love the Ghost crew too much to stay away for long!