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Looks
Hera was a gifted multi-tasker. While out-flying and outmaneuvering Imps in that lonely little quadrant of space they’d all found themselves in, she managed to do three other things:
One: She diagnosed and fixed a coding issue which was causing Chopper to act more foul than usual; he was much more helpful with the fire-fight after that.
Two: She finally (though by accident) loosened the stripped bolt in her steering column and got the yoke adjusted properly.
Three: She noticed that Kanan was missing targets. Like a lot of targets. And come to think of it, that had been happening with increasing frequency.
She bit her tongue against asking if he was drunk; that argument had ended with a black eye last time, and it wasn’t hers. She was pretty sure that he hadn’t had a drop in about a year anyway. Kanan, for all his faults, wasn’t one to keep doing something if he knew it really, truly irked her.
So Hera did something her father had begged throughout her childhood: she practiced patience.
As soon as she had the Ghost away from TIEs and jumped to hyperspace, she unbuckled her restraints and slouched in her seat. She took a slow, deep breath and then blew it out through pursed lips, trying to figure out the most polite, non-confrontational way to ask Kanan Hey, did you wake up stupid this morning or is there some kind of actual problem making you miss targets like a kriffing stormtrooper?
The opportunity presented itself naturally when Kanan came in, dropping himself into the co-pilot’s seat. “Excellent flying,” he grinned, “as always.”
She gave a tight smile. “Thanks.” A pause. “Hey, is the gun in the turret okay? Need calibrating or anything?”
“No,” he said after considering for a moment. “That alignment issue sorted itself out after you messed with it last week.”
She nodded. “The targeting computer is good, too?”
“Yep. All good.”
“Oh.” She answered lamely. She studied her instrument panel. “And—how about—human error?” She stole a sideways glance at Kanan.
He stuck a foot out, catching the edge of her seat and turning it to face him. “Hera, what exactly are you asking me?” His face was sour.
“I’m—not asking you anything,” she said evenly. “I’m telling you that your aim today was terrible.”
Kanan stiffened, glaring. His cheeks tinged pink. “You’re out of your mind.”
“And yet, I’m not.”
Both of them stubborn and determined, they held each other’s gaze, participating in a standoff, playing a game of chicken.
Kanan lost.
“I have it under control,” he groused finally.
“Oh my gods!” Hera felt herself blanch. She’d been flying with a gunner who couldn’t see. “Are you serious? You’re serious?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not all that bad,” he mumbled. “Just a little unfocused is all.”
“You don’t say,” she spat. She jumped out of her seat, pacing the cockpit in agitation. “You know you have to do something about it, right? Glasses, contact lenses, laser correction—I don’t care, but I can’t let you fly blind on my ship.”
Kanan slouched in his seat. “I told you,” he said slowly, “it’s under control.”
“Get it. Fixed.”
He was toe-to-toe with her in an instant, towering over her, no longer bothering to hide his frustration. “Hera—no! I walk into an ophthalmologist’s clinic and then what? They do a high-def retinal scan and that info pops against Imperial-held records taken from the Jedi temple? Who the kriff knows what’s in that file! You are out of your mind!”
Hera took a step back, disconcerted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“No,” he interrupted angrily, “you didn’t.”
He pushed past her, leaving the cockpit, but Hera swore she could see an expression of relief wash over his face. It nagged at her. She followed him.
“But Kanan,” she said calmly, carefully, “you know you could go somewhere in the Outer Rim where they don’t give two bantha tails about the Empire or records or—”
She stopped suddenly, and it clicked. Hera threw back her head and laughed shamelessly. “You’re afraid of going to the eye doctor!”
Halfway through the common room, he turned and glared at her, chagrined. “If you had any sense, you would be too. Have you seen some of the instruments they use? And they put their fingers in your eyes? Drops? No.”
“You’re a child.”
He shrugged. “So be it.”
She jabbed a finger in his face. “Not if you want to stay on my ship. I’m serious. I don’t want to die because you think you can manage—”
“I can manage!”
Hera changed tactics. She drew back, leaning against a wall, giving him a teasing look. “Now that we’re discussing all of this, it’s occurred to me that I’ve seen you squinting a lot lately.”
His expression darkened. “And?”
“And it ages you,” she answered bluntly. “You’ve always had these…cute little smile lines around your eyes.”
He flushed. She continued.
“But the squinting? That’ll make them un-cute really fast. And put about ten years on your face before you have time to realize it’s happened. Those girls you like to flirt with in all the ports? The young, pretty ones?” She blinked up at him coquettishly. “They won’t give the time of day to a creepy, squinting old man. You wouldn’t want to ruin your looks and your prospects like that, now would you, Kanan?”
Thinly concealed rage played on his face. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I know you’re jerking me around,” he muttered darkly.
Her smile was saccharine. “I hope you’re comfortable taking that chance.”
They were in deadlock again, staring each other down, but Hera could see him capitulating.
“Fine!” He exploded at last. “You set it up and I’ll do the laser thing or whatever.” He stalked out of the room, heading for his cabin. “But I’m getting drunk beforehand. Really, really drunk!”
“I can accept that compromise,” she said sweetly.
He flipped her an obscene gesture before closing his door.
Ten seconds later, it opened up again and he stuck his head out.
“You think the lines around my eyes are cute?”