A/N: This is a stand-alone fic, but there is a small connection at the end to one of my older oneshots, "Chained." I'm a big fan of the title, as it's both a plot point and a pun about their relationship.

Kanan Jarrus was two spaceship parts away from quitting his job.

At this point, he couldn't even remember the name of the backwater planet he and Hera were stuck on, and he hardly cared to—he had a feeling they wouldn't come back. They'd been dogging through its gutter, almost literally, of a marketplace, in search of parts Hera claimed the Ghost desperately needed, despite her apparent inability to pay more than forty credits for any of them. His arms ached, from carrying what she had haggled down to a worthy price, his feet were killing him, and sweat had his shirt clinging sticky to his back.

In a word, he was miserable. And even though Hera had put on her steeliest-eyed, tightest-lipped, most businesslike expression, he could tell she'd more than had it with this place, too.

"I can't believe he expected me to pay seventy credits for that piece of junk," she grumbled as they walked away from yet another unsuccessful exchange.

"You should have just given in," he said, readjusting his grip on the bag.

"Given in? I could make a better coupling motivator, if you gave me seventy credits and piece of durasteel." She shook her head, then glanced over at him. "Hey, you've been carrying for a while. Give me that."

Kanan shook his head. "I've got it." His arms felt like they were about to fall off, but she'd never know that.

"Kanan." She frowned.

"Here's a better idea," he said. "Why don't we head back to the Ghost, drop this stuff off, grab a bite to eat, and then finish shopping?"

She furrowed her brow. "It'll be dark by then."

"It will not be dark by then."

"You say that every time, and then guess what, every time, it's dark," Hera said. "Not all planets are the same, you know."

He shifted the bag on his arm as they moved through the marketplace. "I can't believe you just said that to me. Do you know how many planets I've been on?"

"Stopping by for Coruscanti sight-seeing doesn't count," she said.

"Keep your voice down," he said, glancing around them. Even the mention of Coruscant could make them a target in this place—each vendor they'd spoken to had been eager to scam them out of every credit they owned. Whatever this planet was, it certainly wasn't a Coruscant tourism destination, and he had a feeling the market was primarily the black kind.

"Sorry," she said. "Oh, look, there's a coupling motivator!"

Hera darted to the left, and Kanan stifled a groan, trudging after her. By the time he could see the stall, both she and the vendor had their hands on their hips.

"Sixty credits?" Hera's eyebrows were arched in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"Sixty credits is the price," the Trandoshan vendor said. "However…"

His gaze took on a different sheen, one that Kanan recognized—and loathed—all too well. He picked up his pace.

"Perhaps we could make a trade?" The Trandoshan's greedy eyes roamed Hera's body. "A product for a service?"

Kanan strode up to the table. "We'll be paying in credits today," he said, giving the vendor a cold stare. He plunked a stack on the table. "I'll give you fifty for the coupling motivator."

The Trandoshan chuckled, eying the credits with approval. "Your girl drives a much harder bargain," he said. Kanan saw Hera stiffen out of the corner of his eye. "It's nice to see a man who appreciates good business."

Kanan placed his hand over the credits before the Trandoshan could reach them. "Why don't you throw in that stabilizing coil, too," he said.

The vendor's eyes bulged. "I'd need eighty credits for the coil alone."

Kanan lifted his hand from the credits just enough to wave it toward his forehead. "I think you can just give it to us," he said.

The Trandoshan's expression rippled, and he blinked slowly at Kanan. "I think… I can just give it to you," he said.

"This is a good trade for both of us," Kanan said, his voice level and low. The Trandoshan handed him both parts, his hands moving slowly, as if he was underwater.

"This is a good trade for both of us," he repeated. Kanan took the parts and pushed the credits into the vendor's hands.

"We'll be going now," he said. "You won't remember us."

The Trandoshan's stare was blank. "I won't remember you."

Kanan slipped the parts into his bag and nodded tightly to Hera, who could barely nod in return. "Let's go."

They were barely out of earshot before she spoke.

"I can't believe you let him take the credits," she said, under her breath.

Kanan gaped at her, incredulous. "Those were the last two things on our list." His voice rose, and he struggled to lower it. "Why are you angry with me?"

Hera stomped through the sand like she was picking a fight with it. "I'm just saying, if you were going to use a mind trick, you could have at least saved us the credits," she said.

"It's easier when you have something besides the Force to persuade them with," he said, gritting his teeth.

"Well, if you're going to manipulate people, you should do it to our advantage," she said.

"Oh, for Force sake." Kanan stopped in his tracks, slung the bag to the ground, and flung his arms out in exasperation. "Can't I do anything right?"

Her mouth dropped open but was already forming a frown. "I never said that—"

"You've dragged us around this armpit of a planet all day for these parts, and when I finally get them at a fair price, you get mad at me for wasting the credits."

"Giving that sleemo anything was a waste of credits," she said, her voice rising. "Do you know what we could have bought with that money?"

"Here?" He snorted. "Not a coupling motivator or a stabilizing coil, both of which we desperately need, if we ever want to get off this rock."

"I want to get off this rock just as badly as you do, but that doesn't mean I'm going to pay Coruscant prices for Jakku parts."

"Right, 'cause fifty credits is a Coruscant price," he rolled his eyes. "You know, the Jedi may have been ascetics, but I have never met anyone more frugal than you."

Hera put her hands on her hips, her posture downright hostile. "You're one to talk about Jedi, after showing off the way you did back there."

"Showing off?" he said. "Maybe I stepped in—"

"To a situation that I had completely under control."

"I think completely under control is a bit of a stretch—"

"Oh, you would—"

"Lover's quarrel, eh mate?"

Hera was interrupted by a Devaronian neither of them had realized had become a bystander to their argument. The man jerked his chin up at Kanan, giving him a cocky smirk.

"Just give the tail-head a good yank. That always works for me," he said. Hera's mouth dropped open and later, Kanan would swear he saw steam coming off her head, and she'd taken exactly one threatening step toward the Devaronian before Kanan rushed up to intercept her, grabbing her arm.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, shoving him away. Kanan surged forward and put his lips by her ear.

"I want to kill him too, but this isn't the place to cause a scene," he said, his voice low. "We got what we need; let's get out while we still can."

It was true that they'd gotten what they needed, but what he wanted—what he knew they both wanted, from the waves of anger coming off Hera—was to give the Devaronian what he deserved, but he was smarter than that, and thank Force, Hera was too. Not a fraction of tension left her posture, but she met his eyes and gave him the shortest nod. He picked up the bag and followed her out of the square.

"There's a good girl. Have to train 'em to follow orders, you know," he heard the Devaronian say as they walked away, and prayed Hera didn't.

Once they were out of sight and earshot, she stepped a measurable three feet away from him and crossed her arms without breaking stride. Kanan sighed.

"It's been a long day," he said, primarily because he knew she wouldn't want to talk about the Devaronian and because it was one of the few statements he knew they would both agree on. "We should eat something."

"You can stay and eat something." Her tone was clipped. "I'm going back to the Ghost." Hera then added under her breath, "Someone needs to start working on all of these expensive parts."

He sighed, slowing down. "Are you really still mad about the fifty credits?"

She silently maintained her trudge through the sand.

"Hera…"

"I'm not mad."

He couldn't help but snort, watching her stomp ahead of him. "You're not mad," he deadpanned.

"I'm not," she said, staring straight ahead. "I'm going back to the Ghost."

"Hera, come on," he said. "There's no food there."

"There's ration bars—"

"My point stands." Kanan caught up to her and caught her shoulder, and she spun around, whacking his hand away.

He pretended not to notice, and tried to keep his expression open. "Look, there's no food there, it's late, and you're hungry. Let's get a bite to eat."

Her nostrils flared. "First of all, you don't get to tell me if I'm hungry or not—"

"Okay, sorry, I'm sorry," he raised his hands in apology. "But Hera, come on, we need to eat."

"I told you, there's rations bars—"

"H-e-r-a," he said, drawing out every syllable of her name in exasperation. She all but growled, crossing her arms.

"Fine."

They found a place that was off a side alley—a greasy diner, but with no booze in sight and only about half full. The second she sat down in the booth, Hera's entire body seemed to sag, revealing either exhaustion or relief to be off the streets, whichever it was that had her so tense. The waitress dropped two menus down on their table without so much as a hello, and Hera picked hers up, staring daggers at Kanan over the top of it.

"Now," she said, "What should I get that will offset the cost of all the parts we just bought?"

"Spare me," he rolled his eyes and placed a stack of credits on the table. "My treat."

She narrowed her eyes. "Kanan—"

He held up his hands in a plea. "Can we please, not fight, about this one thing? For one hour?"

There was something entreating in his stare, so Hera just pursed her lips and returned her eyes to her menu. He sighed with relief.

She was quiet until the waitress arrived, and then ordered a salad—the cheapest thing on the menu, he noticed—and nothing to drink.

"You?" the waitress turned to him.

"Two orders of space waffles," Kanan said, and got a twinge of enjoyment out of how much effort it took Hera to mask a scoff.

"That all?"

"And two mugs of caf," Kanan said. Hera shot him a look but didn't disagree. The waitress sighed and walked away.

"She's friendly," Kanan said.

Hera barely responded with an exhale, and sat staring out the window with posture like a statue. Kanan sighed.

"Look, we're on the same side here," he said. "I'm trying to get us off this planet as quickly as possible."

She rolled her eyes. "I can tell by the way you stopped for space waffles and caf."

"Hey, no fighting, remember?" he said. Hera exhaled with more force this time and returned her gaze to the window. He sighed again and leaned forward.

"Hera, if this is about the mind trick, I've never used it on you," he began. "You know that."

"I know," she said, without shifting her gaze.

"It only works on the weak-minded, so, headstrong twi'lek women are about as safe as they can get," he said, quirking his lips up.

Hera lifted her eyes to his and almost—almost—cracked a grin at that, something he considered a massive victory. They exchanged looks—his optimistic, hers tentative (out of character for them, as it was usually vice versa)—and the waitress arrived with their mugs of caf. The relief in her posture was evident, as Hera took hers and leaned in close to waft its scent. He watched as she savored the first sip, and then took one of his own.

"Huh," Kanan said, examining his mug more closely. "This is shockingly drinkable."

"It's almost… good," Hera said, quirking an eyebrow at the caf as if she didn't believe its contents.

"Not as good as mine," he said.

She took another sip and shook her head. "No. Definitely not."

They drank the caf in a silence that had grown far more companionable until their food arrived. The waitress set two heaping of plates of space waffles in front of Kanan, then slid a wilted-looking salad to Hera. Kanan raised an eyebrow at Hera, then wordlessly pushed her salad aside and replaced it with one of the plates of waffles. She gave him a look, shaking her head, but even she had to admit that the aroma steaming off the waffles was heavenly.

"My treat," he said, then lifted his mug. "Cheers to the worst planet we've ever had the pleasure of stopping on."

Hera couldn't stop her lips from curving into a smile, and she clinked her mug to his. "Cheers."

The waffles, like the caf, were shockingly good—Hera would never admit it, but she was grateful he'd ordered them for her—and as they ate, she realized how hungry she'd been. Kanan was halfway through his plate before they spoke again.

"Hey." Hera looked up at him, and he stared back at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "About earlier. Planets like this get to me."

Kanan, intrigued, cocked his head. "Planets like this…?"

"You know," she said. "Criminal-infested. Black-market supplying. Dirty."

"Yeah, but Hera…" He pursed his lips and set down his fork. "That describes most of the places we end up," he said. "And don't take this personally, but they've never… affected you, like this one has." He watched her with a quizzical expression. "So what's different about being here?"

Hera sighed. "What's different is that here, every vendor I walk up to thinks I'm the one for sale."

Kanan felt his heart sink. Hera pushed a bite of waffle around her plate, but both of them had suddenly lost their appetite.

"It's one thing to be on a black-market planet," she said. "It's another thing when the market features other beings."

"I'm sorry," he said. She just shrugged.

"I know I should be used to it by now, but…"

"Isn't that the worst thing about it, though?" he couldn't stop himself from saying. "That you think you should be used to it?"

Hera blinked at him a few times, considering this. "Yeah," she said. For the first time he'd met her, she sounded defeated. "I guess it is."

Kanan stared down at his plate and then looked back up at her.

"Can I ask you something?"

Hera's lips twitched. "Given the subject we're on, should I be worried?"

"I just…" Kanan licked his lips, debating whether or not to ask the question. "You were on your own when I met you," he said. "And I assume you had been, for a while."

She nodded. "Right."

"I mean, did you ever…" he was going to butcher this, he just knew it, but if she didn't kill him his curiosity would. "I mean, did you ever truly feel safe?"

Hera half-snorted, half-scoffed. "Not for a minute," she said, sounding painfully candid. "Sometimes not even when I was in the air."

His heart sank into his knees. "Stars," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

Her gaze was far off, somewhere beyond the realm of the diner.

"You know, when I left home… my father literally showed me a holo of Twi'lek women who'd been enslaved," she said. Kanan blinked in surprise.

"It was a scare tactic, really, but I'll never forget what he said. That's what happens to twi'leks who leave Ryloth."

He watched her with sympathy tight on his lips. She stirred her caf.

"Sometimes I think I only escaped it thanks to him," she said. "From the sheer willpower of wanting to prove my father wrong."

A chuckle nearly escaped him, and she looked up at him with a wry grin, as if giving him permission to laugh.

Once they'd both chuckled, he said, "So you're from Ryloth."

"Yeah." She looked up at him, and her brow furrowed. "I guess I never told you that."

Kanan shrugged. "For what it's worth, I'm from Coruscant," he said, then gave her a good-natured smirk. "But I guess you already know that, given how hard you ribbed me about it earlier."

Hera tried and failed to suppress a grin, her cheeks tinting a deeper shade of green.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was… in a mood."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" he asked, sipping his caf. She rolled her eyes, but she was laughing. After a beat, Hera gave him a curious look.

"Did you really not know I was from Ryloth?" she asked.

"I mean, I had guessed," he said, gesturing at her, "But you never confirmed it until just now. When we first met you said you were from around."

She grinned. "In my defense, you said it first."

Kanan chuckled. "That's fair."

Hera paused.

"You know, I'd like to go after them someday," she said. "The slavers, I mean. The trade rings."

He couldn't keep the wry smile off his lips. "Is that before or after we defeat the Empire?"

Thankfully, she didn't look miffed by the comment. "After."

Kanan shook his head with a smile. "You've got big dreams, Hera."

She returned his smile. "I like to think of it as hope."

Kanan had a hundred more questions on his lips—he hadn't even known she was from Ryloth—but he didn't want to press. He reached for his mug and lifted it high.

"To hope, then," he said.

She smiled. "To hope."

Hera raised her mug and lifted it to his, but paused just before their cups clinked.

"And… to Kanan," she said. "For somehow always knowing exactly what I need."

Maybe she was talking about the meal—maybe she was talking about far more—but whatever it was that had moved her to say those words warmed him far more than any mug of caf ever could.