A/N: So, last weekend, I read New Dawn, which was a pretty decent book detailing Hera and Kanan's first adventure/mission together. Y'all…they were so young when they met. Roughly eighteen and twenty-two, respectively, and we know they traveled alone together for a few years. Can you imagine what it was like, just the two of them cruising around, not yet grown into the Space Parents we know and love today? I can. So here I present a collection of one-shots and vignettes, ever-growing. At the beginning of each, I'll tell how long they've known each other. R&R!

Green-Eyed Monster

Time Elapsed: Eight Weeks

Hera Syndulla was mature, principled, clever, and a prodigiously skilled pilot but she was, at the end of the day, only eighteen years old. And eighteen wasn't old enough for any being, regardless of species or creed, to be able to fully understand the complicated intricacies of relationships.

Take her relationship with Kanan Jarrus, for example.

She'd met him on Gorse just two months ago and she was crazy about him. Oh, she was good at hiding it, ignoring it, pushing her commitment to the Rebellion ahead of her feelings, but she knew there was something about that mysterious, infuriating man that made her feel she had found her place in the galaxy. She thought that maybe, maybe he shared some of the same sentiments? She'd seen it in his eyes from time to time. (Right?) But docking at a shady spaceport on Akiva and going out for the evening proved to be an education to the contrary. She cursed all the cantinas in the galaxy, and cursed Kanan's penchant for drinking especially.

Hera studied her reflection and was horrified by what she saw: smudged, cakey eye makeup, bleary eyes, feathered traces of yesterday's garish lipstick, and an impossibly tight dress that just barely covered everything it needed to.

She was completely mortified. Really, had all dignity died with the freedom of Ryloth?

This was the worst part: she wasn't looking in a mirror.

There was no reflection.

There was only a woman—another Twi'lek woman!—strolling through the ship's common room, looking like she was about to speak.

Please, no, Hera thought bleakly. She sat, still pajama clad at zero-seven-thirty, with one leg propped up against the side of the dejarik table, the other stretched out on the curved bench. She felt exposed wearing only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Both garments were short and thinly woven, leaving plenty of skin visible to the stranger. She thought about jumping up and running to get dressed, but why shouldn't she wear her own pajamas on her own ship?

The Other Woman continued to approach with an overly-friendly smile. Hera made no room for her on the bench. She didn't even set her cup of caf aside. If The Woman, a fellow Twi'lek, had any sense at all, she'd have been able to take one look at the position of Hera's lekku and the arch of her eyebrows and interpret her body language for what it was: all but openly hostile.

The Woman lacked sense as much as she lacked tasteful clothing, clearly. She continued to approach Hera and then leaned over her as if preparing to share a great secret. "Your friend really knows how to show a girl a good time." The stench of several kinds of alcohol was heavy on her breath.

Hera suddenly found herself feeling nauseated, and not just because of the smell. "My friend," she repeated, acid dripping from the word, "doesn't know when he's had too much to drink." She paused, gauging The Woman before adding mercilessly, "You're not his first 'guest' this week."

Now, that was a bald-faced and petty lie, one which Hera knew was beneath her to tell. She didn't care.

The Woman only smirked and she straightened, swinging her hips as she walked away. "Jealous, honey?"

Hera smiled a lethal smile and her eyes narrowed. "You can show yourself out." Her tone said, Go kriff yourself.

Oh, wait—Kanan already had.

An aggravated noise scraped the back of Hera's throat. She ran her finger along the rim of her mug, watching how the motion created ripples on the liquid surface inside. "Jealous, honey?" She mocked in a syrupy voice.

Chopper wheeled by just then and gave a very vocal and opinionated answer to that question. Hera flushed, scooting across the bench so she could ram her heel against his dome.

"I'm going to shove you back into the socket of that old Y-wing and solder you there!" she said hotly. He sniggered at her, making several rude gestures with his manipulators. "Deviant," she muttered.

He rolled away, unoffended, whistling and warbling as he headed to—where, exactly? Hera frowned. She was of half a mind to adjust his programming. That droid clearly thought himself to have the run of the ship.

Chopper and Kanan passed each other in the doorway and the droid cackled again. Hera felt along the back of the bench and found a spare bolt. She hurled it at the droid, fuming.

Kanan's eyebrows rose just a fraction, amused that Chopper was already on Hera's last nerve at zero-eight-hundred. "What'd he do now?"

"He knows what he did," Hera said, loudly enough that Chopper could certainly hear. "Just being his usual awful self."

Kanan shook his head and snorted. "No surprise there."

Oh, but there were plenty of surprises here earlier, Hera though sourly. She quickly rearranged her expression into something passive, if not pleasant. There was a beat of silence and she noticed Kanan's eyes following the curves of her smooth, long legs. Heat prickled on the back of her neck for all kinds of reasons, but she kept her face carefully blank.

"Caf?" She asked, motioning with her mug.

He smiled, pleasantly surprised by the offer. "Sure."

She smiled sweetly in return, getting up. She let him walk ahead of her to the galley so he couldn't see how she rolled her eyes. He looked remarkably sober, she thought. He was dressed, neatly groomed, and alert. She thought maybe he looked a little tired, but not hungover. Weird—she knew he had, at least in the recent past, quite the love affair with alcohol.

"I didn't hear you come back last night," she said casually. She stood in front of the caf-brewer, getting it ready to brew another carafe. He leaned against the counter next to her, little space between them.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "You were already asleep when I got back." He rubbed his neck. "Around zero-one, I think."

"Mm," she acknowledged, nodding. She watched the caf drip into the carafe and reached above her head to get a mug for Kanan, tiptoeing. Doing this expanded the gap between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her shorts. She continued talking as if she was totally unaware he was watching her intently. "I picked up a few things at the market and came back early myself. Talked to a few interesting locals." She turned her gaze up at him, peering through her eyelashes. "How was the bar scene?"

He swallowed. There it was! She had him trapped and he knew it. His eyes shifted warily. "Not that great," he hedged. "I'm thinking about laying off for a while."

Hera's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "Oh, really?" She poured him a cup of caf and handed it to him. Her tone must have been sharper than intended, because he eyed the caf suspiciously and took a careful sip.

"Thanks," he said. She turned so that her hip pressed against the counter. Bodies nearly brushing, she studied his profile.

"You didn't make any friends, then?" She asked innocently.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and then flashed a grin before bringing his caf up to his mouth. "I don't need friends. I have you."

Such a smooth line may have worked on other women, but not on Hera Syndulla. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Sleemo!" She spat, face darkening. She punched him in the arm—hard.

He was mid-sip when she hit him and hot caf sloshed out of the cup, baptizing his beard. "Ow!"

He scrambled to set down the caf and wipe his face. His skin was red and mottled where it'd burned him. "What gives? What's the matter with you?" He shouted, incensed.

She glared, eyes narrow. "'I don't need friends. I have you,'" she mimicked his simpering tone. She muttered something in Ryl and shoved her way past him.

Or tried to.

His hand shot out and caught her by the waist. He drew himself up to full height in front of her, placing himself between her and the door. Hera, nonplussed, stood toe-to-toe with him, knowing she wouldn't be able to get past him without hitting him again. He knew it, too.

"Don't."

Hera huffed and struck her signature I'm-incredibly-annoyed stance: weight thrown to one side, hand on the opposite hip. "Will you please move?"

"I will not 'please move!' Will you please tell me what's got you like this?"

"What's 'got me like this' is you!"

"HOW?" He demanded, patience seeping away. "I've seen you for all of ten minutes today!"

"Sorry," she said sharply, not sorry at all. "Not you, then, but your overnight guest."

That threw him off balance. "W-what?"

"That tramp you spent the night with on my ship." She couldn't believe she was having to spell it out for him.

"Oh, her?" The confusion on Kanan's face cleared instantly. "Listen—"

"I will not," she interrupted, jabbing a finger in his chest, "You listen. I thought we had an understanding about what it is we're doing here, but if you're only interested in carousing and cavorting, I can drop you off back on Gorse and let you take your chances there." She spoke in a rush, color rising. "To be frank, I thought there was more to you than that."

To Hera's eternal surprise, Kanan paused a moment before responding to her verbal beratement. "You're right; there is more to me than that," he said evenly. "Joining your little crusade against the Empire reminded me of that."

She regarded him warily. In the time she'd known Kanan, he'd always been honest, but not exactly open. This was new territory.

He continued. "I went out last night looking for a little fun," he admitted, "but I didn't find it." A look of disgust crossed his face. "What I did find was a woman who'd been drugged by some sleemo slipping something in her drink. I played the part of admirer to get her out of there—she was gonna get herself taken advantage of. I can't stand that kind of thing. Saw it too much on Gorse and other places."

Hera suddenly felt very small and foolish. "I forgot you were a bartender," she murmured. "So you brought her back to the Ghost—"

"Where she slept in one of the empty cabins," he finished. "I didn't think she'd be awake before I had a chance to tell you. Sorry." He smiled at her, roguish again. "Besides, she wasn't my type."

Hera let the comment pass. "I owe you an apology," she said, contrite.

He waved a hand. "Keep that in mind next time I do something you don't like."

"Well," she shifted uncomfortably, pulling her shirt down to cover all of her middle, "I should go get dressed."

He turned to let her pass, touching her hand as she did so. "Hey."

Her answering glance was guarded, but she didn't pull away from his touch. "What?"

"I've always known the Ghost was a one-woman ship, Hera." His eyes searched hers and her heart started beating oddly.

She smiled up at him. "Good."