Chapter Text
Hera had never felt her heart to be so full.
Her entire crew, together and whole. Fulcrum, or rather Ahsoka, speaking freely with them all. Hera’s rebel mission was finally coming into harmony with her personal mission – her family – and the relief was almost too much to bear.
And they were all safe, for the time being, if not completely sound. She was of course still worried about Kanan, whose ordeal was etched in the fine lines of his face, and Ezra, who literally had fresh scars arcing across his cheekbone. Both of them should probably have been getting some well-earned rest. But Kanan had firmly declared that before anything else, all he wanted was to sit with them all for a while and have a bite to eat. (Besides, Ezra was attached so stubbornly to his side that it might not have been worth the fight to try to disentangle them.)
So they had all crammed into the Ghost’s dejarik booth, cradling mugs of rek tea and sharing a platter of precious meiloorun slices. “Better to start off slow, with food,” she’d told Kanan gently.
They were making blissfully inane small talk, as if nothing horrific had happened over the past several days, when Ezra flopped abruptly into Kanan’s side and cuddled up to him like a sleepy loth-cat. Kanan chuckled and wrapped an arm around his padawan, then frowned gently at what he must have felt in one of Ezra’s ubiquitous pockets.
“What’s this?” mused Kanan, poking at it.
“Oh,” said Ezra, sounding a little embarrassed, and a little dazed. He pulled out Kanan’s holocron, and Ahsoka’s eyes grew wide in recognition.
“I know I shouldn’t have been going through your stuff, but—I just really missed you, Kanan. And it made me feel a little closer to you. Listening to the message. Master Kenobi’s message, I mean. You know. Just… a little closer…”
“What’d the message say?” asked Zeb, curious.
“A reminder… trust… trusting in… the Force…” mumbled Ezra. His speech was slowing down, and his words were starting to slur. He must have been truly exhausted. But of course he’s exhausted, thought Hera to herself, with a pang of guilt. He’s been carrying a burden no child should have to bear for the last 10 days. And I couldn’t help him enough.
On the other side of the bench, Sabine was frowning deeply. “Kid, look at me,” she commanded him suddenly, snapping her fingers in front of his face.
“Anytime,” murmured Ezra, but Sabine didn’t bother even to roll her eyes. She was staring at Ezra in alarm.
“His pupils are unequal. I think he’s bleeding in his brain.”
The thought was so horrifying that it took a few seconds for Hera to process the statement. Finally she managed to ask, “He hit his head?”
“He fell,” said Kanan, looking stricken.
“Is there… something wrong with the… with the gravity? I feel…” Ezra trailed off, leaning even more steeply to the side.
“Ezra!” shouted Zeb, and it was sobering to hear him call Ezra by name rather than by insult.
“Just a headache… I’m okay.” But there was no mistaking now the pain in his voice and eyes. Hera thought he might be about to cry.
“Chopper!” ordered Ahsoka. “We need you to get the med droid, right away.” For once, Chopper didn’t argue; he just scuttled off in the direction of the transport vessel the Ghost had docked with. Ahsoka then turned to Kanan. “Do you have any skill in Force healing?”
“A little,” Kanan admitted hesitantly.
“We’ll do it together,” she replied. “We need to stop any bleeding quickly. You know him best, so you guide us, and I’ll hold gentle pressure.”
Kanan released a shaky breath, then nodded in determination. They settled Ezra between the two of them and touched their hands to either side of his head, wearing matching expressions of focused calm. Hera sensed a wave of serenity washing over her, and wondered if it was because of how they were using the Force, or just how Kanan’s presence always made her feel. At first, Ezra looked like he couldn’t decide whether he was about to pass out or be sick. But moment by moment, some of the pain seemed to ease from his frame, and he started to look slightly less awful.
Then suddenly, Kanan’s eyes flew open and he paled and pitched forward, barely managing not to slide out of his seat.
Hera surged forward to grab his arm, steadying him. “Kanan! What’s wrong?” He didn’t reply; it seemed as if it was all he could do just to see straight.
Hera glanced at Ahsoka pleadingly and asked, “Is it—is this a Force thing?” She had seen him overextend himself in the Force before, and could remember waiting helplessly for Kanan to come back to himself.
Ahsoka leaned forward as if to place her hands on Kanan’s head, and then seemed to think better of it. She reached for his wrist instead, and held two fingers to his pulse point for a long, silent moment. Her eye’s drifted closed, and her brow furrowed. Finally, she spoke: “It’s not the Force. It’s his heart.”
Hera felt as if her own heart had suddenly dropped to her feet. Zeb and Sabine stiffened sharply, and even Ezra managed to push through his mental haze to exclaim, “What?”
“It’s all right, Ezra,” breathed Kanan.
It wasn’t. It wasn’t all right. First Ezra badly hurt, now Kanan… Hera grabbed desperately at Kanan’s wrist, trying to stay calm as she waited to feel his pulse. And waited. And waited – finally, there it was. But the space between beats was uneven, and too long. “It’s a mis-rhythm,” she realized aloud.
Ahsoka nodded, crossing her arms. “Electricity is one of the Empire’s favorite interrogation tools,” she said. “Heart mis-rhythms are a common side effect.”
Just then, Chopper bustled back in with the med droid in tow, warbling loudly. The med droid appeared to be an old model, not one that Hera had seen before.
It addressed Kanan and Ezra: “Hello. I am Emdee-Ayteen. Initiating: clinical encounter.” None too gently, the med droid began to examine them, nudging them into position, checking vitals, and performing quick scans with mechanical efficiency.
Hera saw Ezra flinch away from the droid’s cold metal sensors, more than once. She lowered her voice and asked Ahsoka, “Is there no medic available?”
Ahsoka met her eyes apologetically. “I’m so sorry. But we left in a hurry, as soon as Chopper told us what was going on. There wasn’t a chance to stock up on med supplies, or even to get a medic on board.”
The med droid beeped to get their attention, and proclaimed that the assessment was complete.
“Recommendation for Patient A: urgent surgery to evacuate intracranial hematoma. Without surgery, pressure from hematoma may result in herniation of brain. Odds of survival without immediate surgery: 1 to 1. Odds of full recovery without immediate surgery—”
Kanan’s grip tightened around Ezra’s shoulder, and Ahsoka spoke up: “We don’t have a brain surgeon on hand, and we won’t until we arrive at the rendezvous site 12 hours from now. Are you saying you’re programmed to do surgery?”
“Negative. Diagnostic capabilities only.”
Chopper groaned in frustration, and Hera had to agree. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” muttered Ahsoka. “Okay, so surgery is out for now. Give us solutions. What can we do?”
“It is imperative to prevent further bleeding and to promote resorption of blood. Secondary recommendation: bacta is ideal. Preferred route: epidural injection.”
“I assume you’re incapable of doing that, as well?” The droid confirmed it, and Ahsoka nodded. “Fine, that’s fine. I can do the injection; I’ve had some experience with this sort of thing. What about your other patient?”
“Recommendation for Patient B: full immersion in bacta tank, to address cardiac mys-rhythm, renal threat, burn injuries, rib fracture, hematomas, dehydration...”
Hera felt her stomach turn at the litany of problems. She barely heard Ahsoka remind the med droid that they did not have access to a bacta tank while in hyperspace. Emdee-Ayteen acknowledged this and suggested an injection of intravascular bacta instead. This should have settled things, but after a few more minutes of processing the logistics of the plan, the med droid screeched: “Critical error: Bacta supplies low. Insufficient to treat both Patient A and Patient B.”
Hera had never seen Fulcrum—or Ahsoka, rather—look so distressed. Ahsoka turned to her and said, “I’m so sorry, Hera. We really were not prepared for this level of medical need—”
“We’ll make it work,” Hera assured her. “And we’ll make sure to pick up some med supplies on one of our next missions. In the meantime, Emdee, can we split the bacta between them?”
“Negative. If bacta supply is subdivided, there will not be enough to help either patient.”
Sabine pressed further: “Are there any other treatment options for Kanan?”
Emdee-Ayteen whirred thoughtfully before responding. “Patient B is increasingly symptomatic and hypotensive. Without temporary pacing to restore normal rhythm, or bacta to repair cardiac signal conduction system, odds of death are—”
“You need to stop that,” interrupted Ahsoka sternly.
“It’s okay, guys,” said Kanan. “I’ve got a plan.” His voice was so confident that if she couldn’t see him in front of her, Hera might have imagined that he had the situation under control. But Kanan was breathing heavily, and he seemed to be working very hard to keep his gaze focused.
He announced: “Ezra will take all the bacta.”
There was an immediate chorus of objections. Ezra protested vaguely too, though it was hard to be sure how much of the conversation he was following.
“But love,” said Hera. “What about you?” What she didn’t say, but hoped he knew: I need you too much to let you go, again.
For a moment, Kanan’s bravado faded, and she could see the ghosts he’d carried every day for 15 years. He spoke quietly: “On the Star Destroyer, while I was fighting the Inquisitor. Ezra fell, and I thought I’d lost him – just like I lost my master all those years ago. I can’t do it again.” Hera rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Besides,” Kanan added, attempting to flash his obnoxious grin again, “I won’t need the bacta anyway.”
“Wha’dya mean, you won’t need it? Didn’t you hear what that droid just said?” burst out Zeb, aggravated.
“I’m not going to need bacta, because Sabine here is going to build me a pacer.”
“Excuse me?” Sabine retorted, nearly managing to disguise the fear in her voice with a thick layer of teenage indignance.
“Sabine,” he coaxed imploringly, “it’s the only way. And it’s not like it has to be a masterpiece—it just has to last the next 12 hours, till we get to the rendezvous. I know you can do it, Sabine; I believe in you.”
Sabine just stared at him for a few moments, eyes wide in outraged incredulity. When Kanan showed no sign of backing down, and no one else showed any sign of intervening, she threw her hands in the air in disgust. “Fine!” she said. “I’ll have it done in an hour.”
“Make it 45 minutes?” said Kanan hopefully. Sabine scowled and stormed out of the room
“Zeb,” said Hera quietly, “maybe you can see if Sabine needs help with anything. I’ll stay and lend a hand here.” The Lasat let out a long exhale and nodded.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered, as he headed out of the room.