A/N: I've actually had some of this written for a while, as a drabble that popped into my head. Then "Rebel Assault" happened, and the timing worked out.

Sabine's boots were snaring, as she trudged through Lothal's plains, both delaying her progress and fueling her ire. She kicked at the long grasses in vain, only to become more entangled, and by the time she reached the Jedi she'd been aiming for, nests of the blasted stuff had woven around her boots.

She huffed, coming to a stop. "Kanan, I've been looking everywhere for you."

He made no reply.

Her brow furrowed. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

He still didn't turn around. "Thinking."

"Thinking?" Sabine's eyebrows went up. "In case you haven't noticed, Kanan, we need to be doing a lot more than thinking."

Kanan was silent.

"Have you come up with a plan?" She asked slowly. Unease began filtering into her stomach. "Or… even thought about the idea that we need one?"

"I have," he said.

"Well, we're not gonna plan anything out here," she said, gesturing back toward their base.

He didn't move.

"Kanan." Sabine felt her frustration burning hotter as she waited for him to turn around. "Come on."

"Sabine, it's okay," he said, far too calmly for her liking. Sabine lost it.

"It's okay?" She demanded. "It's okay?! What do you mean, it's okay? Hera's captured, Kanan. She's gone. Maybe forever, and you're just standing there, like you don't even care!"

"You don't know anything." His voice was eerily composed, and that angered her further.

"I do too! I'm not a little kid anymore, Kanan, you don't get to tell me what to think!"

"I never said you were a little kid."

"That's not the point!" She practically screeched. "Hera could be dying, for all we know! They could be torturing her right now—"

"Hera's strong. She'll be alright."

"You don't know that!" It took everything Sabine had not to scream. "Kanan, don't you get it?! We have to do something! I can't sit around like this anymore!"

This time, he didn't even give a response. Sabine watched his back, stiff and unmoving, as Kanan faced Lothal's plains. Pieces of his hair lifted with the wind, the only sign that the Jedi was still on the planet, while Sabine herself was shaking with rage.

"Say something!" She finally spat.

Kanan whipped around, and only then did she realize that his mask was gone.

"I love her!" He roared. "You want me to say something? How's that?"

The anger on his face was astonishing, and Sabine was too stunned to reply. Kanan took a step closer to her, gesturing angrily.

"Or would you like me to add that she's everything that I am, that she's so much a part of me that I feel like I'm the one who's lost? Do you need verbal confirmation that this place doesn't feel like home and that nothing feels the same? That I feel like I'm walking around in unknown territory because she was my only map?"

His hands, thrown wide, slowly came down to his sides, as Kanan took a deep breath and exhaled with restraint. She watched him fearfully.

"I have a thousand things to say about Hera's absence, Sabine," Kanan said. His eyes were hard. "But that's not what a leader does. And I know it's not what Hera did when I was captured."

Her cheeks burned with shame. He was staring at her straight on, milky eyes bold and unapologetic, and even though he couldn't see her, she couldn't hold his gaze.

Sabine stared at her feet. "I… I'm sorry," she said.

After a tense moment, the warmth of his hand found her shoulder. She looked up into Kanan's blind eyes.

"Me too," he said.

A sob welled up in her throat, but Sabine choked it down. His lips parted, but she spoke before he could.

"I just… we have to do something," she said, and pulled her arm out from his touch to wipe her eyes. Kanan frowned.

"We will," he said.

"But when?" She demanded.

A shadow darkened his face. "I don't know yet."

Sabine flung her arms out. "How can you be so calm about this? We should be storming that Star Destroyer right now—"

"Do you think I want to wait around like this, Sabine?" He gestured. "Do you think it's easy for me, knowing her life is in their hands?"

She was so frustrated that she could have screamed, but she just dropped her hands and shook her head. "No."

"You're right. It's not. It's not easy for any of us," he said. "But this is what she would have wanted."

"That doesn't mean it's right—"

He was actually laughing at her. Laughing. Sabine saw red.

"What?" She hissed.

"Usually with Hera, it does," Kanan said. Something about the smirk dancing on his face, pulling at the corners of his sightless eyes, the expression so familiar to her but so different now; something about realizing that Kanan had probably given Hera this smirk a thousand times and that they had so much history together, history that extended well past Sabine's knowledge of the Ghost and its crew, and that he would never truly see her reaction to it again, that he would never see her again, that there was a very real possibility that none of them would ever see her again; something about all of this at once flattened her and made her feel infinitesimally small, and while she had been trying not to laugh she now found herself trying not to cry.

And then his arms were around her, and he had pulled her into a wordless embrace, and it was just the warm, strong solidness of his chest holding her to reality, and she was sobbing openly, the front of his tunic sticky with her tears, and she loved him at that moment, loved him for not even trying to nudge her away like the part of her, the part of her that was Mandalore, all warrior, all fire and steel, was screaming at him to.

Don't let me cry, she couldn't help but think. Mandalorians don't cry.

Sabine had cried in front of her mother once.

Mandalorians don't cry, Sabine.

The first and the last time.

But Ursa wasn't here, there was only Kanan, and right now, she was glad for that.

Her shoulders eventually stopped shaking; her sobs gave way to gentle, apologetic sniffles.

"We will get her back, Sabine."

She felt his voice rumble through his chest as much as she heard it, and something about that was deeply comforting.

"We just have to be patient," he said.

Sabine's sniffling became a chuckle. She stepped back, wiped her eyes, and with a deep breath and a brave grin up at him, said, "Neither of us has ever been very good at that."

The tiniest smile cracked his lips. "First time for everything."

(A/N: I realize that in the previous chapter, Kanan specifically says "You'll get her back" to Ezra. He's feeling tired and hopeless in that moment, whereas here, in a better, resolved frame of mind, he says "we," primarily to avoid exacerbating Sabine's distress. What a good spacedad.)