Pressure Points

Mirror and Image

Hera was a tight, knotted mess. Three back to back ops, none of them successful, and six weeks in hyperspace with no time to refuel or make repairs. Cabin fever had driven Chopper to the height of annoyance – including shocking both organic members of the crew just to relieve boredom and forcing Hera to power him down just so she could get work done. Three days had been spent in the belly of the ship, fixing the ventilation system and tuning the power converters. They'd be in space for another two days, and then they absolutely had to stop for supplies. And shore leave. And sanity. Her back had been arced at every angle imaginable doing maintenance, her shoulders had been bunched to the point where she couldn't remember them ever being below her neck, her headache was on its second day and stars above, she wanted to feel better.

She laid back on her seat, pulling her gloves off and tossing them to the floor. Her fingers still smelled of grease and oil, but she couldn't be bothered to care as she dug them into her temples. Kanan had helped where he could – he was passable at mechanics but not enough to do the finer detail work Hera was doing – and instead he brought her a steady stream of cafe or made soups out of nothing or just stayed invisible when she was cursing at faulty wiring.

In their three years of knowing each other they had grown comfortable with one another. They respectively knew each other's abilities for an op and worked well together on the field. Kanan was still the rough-and-tumble cowboy out of the ship, but the facade dropped quickly once the Ghost was in air. Hera had been pleasantly surprised to learn he was attentive, the lasciviousness and the "sweethearts" disappeared as soon as he stepped on board, instead doing his assignments without complaint, offered intelligent insight during the planning phase of any op, displayed honest charm in unguarded and unforced moments. The crush was still there, of course, Hera decided a long time ago that she had no power over stopping that, but again Kanan had pleasantly surprised her: he never acted on it. Other than the occasional puppy-gaze he held himself in check, and Hera enjoyed having a partner that didn't have expectations.

Pulling her fingers from her head she sucked in a deep breath of recycled air, rolling her shoulders and trying to pull at the hundred knots in her back. She looked over to Kanan in the copilots seat, watching her as he always did, a thought on his lips before he thought better of it and when back to looking at the consoles. "Two more days in hyper space. Once we deliver the goods we'll have enough credits to make repairs and have a little left over for frivolity."

Hera smiled. "Like either of us are frivolous," she said, leaning back in her chair. Oh, it all hurt.

Kanan started to speak again, stopped again.

"Just say it, Kanan," she said, rubbing at her neck.

The human froze, caught, and pursed his lips. "It's just... I might have a way to ease some of the tension."

Hera swung her chair around to face him more fully. "Care to explain that?" she asked.

The look on his face said a lot, and over the last few years Hera had slowly come to think of it as the "Jedi details" look, the eyes slightly haunted and brow slightly pained, the grim line on the face that said he wasn't sure if what he said was safe, or what he said was just painful. Hera had learned the hard way to wait through those looks, pushing almost always lead to a total shut down, and twice a drunken binge. For all that they trusted each other on the field, neither of them completely trusted each other with their selves. There were entire sectors of Kanan's past that was little more than Wild Space to Hera, and Hera was very aware that there were some important parts of herself that she hadn't felt ready to share yet. That level of intimacy came with time.

"The body has pressure points," Kanan said finally. "Areas that can manipulate the energy inside a person, change the flow or release tension. I'm not a medic, but I know enough that I might be able to... to relieve some of the tension."

"Kanan Jarrus," Hera said, eyes wide. "Are you offering to give me a massage?"

"No," he said quickly, wincing. "It's just touch. Pressure points."

Hera debated quietly in her head. Kanan had expressed more than once that his time before Hera had been filled with women, she had no doubt he was skilled at the art of seduction; but after three years he had never once tried his wiles on her, never even brought it up. Three years of consideration built a certain amount of trust, however, and she decided to trust him with this. She nodded her head, carefully.

Kanan needed no other prompting. "Take your shoes off," he said, voice no-nonsense, slipping out of his seat and kneeling in front of her. "Over a third of a body's pressure points are in the feet."

Hera was incredulous but did as she was told. Kanan didn't actually start on her feet but with her hands, taking one into his and studying it carefully, turning it over slowly before placing two fingers on her wrist, right at the base of her palm. The touch was feather light. Hera frowned as the touch left and then repeated itself on her other wrist.

"Slow down," Kanan said softly. "Don't focus on what you should feel, but what you do feel. It won't be anything at first, you have so much blocked energy that this will take a while."

Hera nodded, eyes locked on the top of Kanan's head as he studied her hands and placed his fingers; soft touches that lasted anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes. She eventually surrendered herself to the experience, leaning back and watching Kanan do his work. His eyes were focused, intent on something she had no hope of seeing. His hands went from her wrists to her feet, and she still felt nothing, simply let herself be entertained by the show. As intimate as the touch was, it was not intimate. Everything was chaste and professional, and Hera felt rewarded for her trust.

Kanan stood and started touching her head, two fingers at the base of her lekku and ooooohhhh, that sent a reaction all the way down her spine. She hummed in her throat and she heard Kanan smile. "Finally," he muttered. The touch started to do more, each pressure point sent relief all over Hera's body, and she closed her eyes and submitted to the pleasant sensations. True to Kanan's word, it wasn't a massage, even when he did dig the heel of his palm or a thumb into a shoulder or knot, it was always at best one or two presses before it was back to the feather-light touch. His fingers were warm, surprising given the chilled air of the ship, and Hera lost track of the pulses of relief that moved through her body. She relaxed, sinking into the pilot chair and losing herself in a haze of comfort. Her back still ached, but her headache was virtually gone and everything felt far away in the face of the released pressure in her body.

She was beginning to hazily wonder if she would fall asleep in the chair and what would Kanan do if she did when there was a touch that was nothing like the others, this one very intimate and setting a fire in her body that she had not asked for.

"Kanan!" she cried out, eyes snapping open and jolting upright in her seat. The human froze, looking up in confusion. Confusion? What did he have to be confused about?!

His eyes moved slowly to his hand, and Hera could watch the dots connect as he realized where it was. He recoiled as if on fire, an undefinable noise erupting from his mouth as he tripped over the co-pilot seat and fell backwards. "Sorry! Sorry! Ah, kriff, I didn't mean to do that!"

Hera wasn't in the mood for excuses. "Get out!" she shouted, "Get out!"

He didn't need to be told twice, and Hera followed long enough to punch the door shut and lock it. Only then did she allow herself to breath.

Stars above, she was shaking. Her breath came out in ragged bursts as adrenaline coursed through her body, followed quickly by shame and violation.

Three years. That was all she could think about. They had been together for three years, and he had never once tried to cross the line she had drawn. Three years of respect and trust and routine and suddenly... what? Did he decide he had waited long enough? Did he think he had done enough to get a reward? Had she misread him for all this time? Did he truly see her as just a Twi'lek, a body slave to be taken when the urge hit? Three years! What made him think he could just... just... do that?

She had been a fool, she had trusted too readily. Her father had said repeatedly that the males of any species could not be trusted, that their brains existed in their reproductive organs, where-ever and whatever they were. Hera had thought that Kanan, the Jedi, was better than that. Even knowing his womanizing she had always gotten the impression that it was less about the taking and more about needing an emotional crutch. There was a hint of brittleness about him, of course there was, his people had been wiped out in the worst way possible, but she would never have guessed he would do something so... so degrading.

She sat in the pilot seat, holding herself, letting the emotions wash over her. Space, two days in hyperspace and now this had happened. What was she going to do? How was she supposed to react to him? Should she throw him out? Try to talk it out? Redraw the line, harder this time? What was she supposed to do?

She must have sat there for an hour, possibly more, she didn't look at the chrono. Hera knew herself well enough that she needed to handle the emotional part of this reaction first before she took action. She was only twenty-one, there was still a lot of growing up to do and she was intelligent enough to take blows like this very carefully. Mental maturity and field competence were not the only measures, and Fulcrum often said that it was important to take the time to feel the emotions first before deciding what to do with them.

Eventually, she settled on one thought: why? After three years of respect and routine, why did Kanan suddenly touch her like that? She realized she couldn't make a decision until she knew, and an action she could take made her feel much better than the rampant indecision. She looked at the console, and then at the locked door. She needed a little more time first, and she pulled at a panel. Work first, work through the emotions and create some artificial distance, put her head together, and then she would seek him out. Plan in mind, she looked at the steering components.

It was several hours later and Hera felt... better wasn't the right word. Prepared might have been a more accurate choice. Most (most) of the shame had been burned through and the overpowering sense of betrayal had been managed, and she had a few ideas on how to start what was likely going to be a very painful conversation for both parties. (She tried not to think about the possibility that it would be only painful for her, that Kanan wouldn't care. She couldn't let one thing rewrite three years, but she couldn't not let it be rewritten either...)

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked and exited the cockpit. Her heartrate was up with anticipation, she debated doing something else to settle her nerves, but that was more excuse than reason, and Hera always faced her problems head on. She knocked on Kanan's door, waiting for response before palming it open. It was empty.

Great. Now she had to find him.

Frustrated at the delay, she moved down the hall and to the cargo bay. Nothing. She went down a level and to the galley. Nothing. She found him in the common room, the lights off except emergency lights, his tall frame at the dejirak table mostly in silhouette. His head was knocked back, drinking a bottle of something. Three other bottles were on the table, obviously empty. Oh, no. He was drinking. Hera was going to enjoy this conversation even less.

Kanan exhaled as he finished his swig, seeing her in the darkness and his silhouette offering a bottle-salute. "Hey," he said, his rich baritone soft, thick layers of negative emotions lacing it. "Here to take your pound of flesh? I already got a head start for you."

Hera turned the lights on; she didn't want to have this talk in the dark, didn't want to hide in it. She tugged at one of the stools and sat on it across from Kanan, the table between them, a physical and metaphoric boundary to make herself feel safe. Kanan, despite the three empty bottles, looked stone sober, watched her carefully, eyes darting to the table and acknowledging the choice she had made. The silence stretched out; Kanan unwilling to say anything and Hera uncertain where to start.

Finally, "Why did you do it?"

"... I don't think you'll believe me," he said.

"Try me."

A long, drawn-out pause, eyes gauging, measuring. "The Force made me do it and I'm-"

"You're right," Hera said, voice flat. "I don't believe you."

"-And I'm a nerf-herding idiot," Kanan finished before exhaling loudly and taking another draw of his bottle. Hera glanced at the labels, Ithorian whiskey, very hard stuff. "Look," he added, shifting his weight and leaning forward. Hera leaned back, uncertain what he was going to do, and he saw it and froze, sadness crossing his face before he leaned back to give her space. "Look," he repeated. "It's my fault, I should have explained: pressure points on humans and near-humans and various species, it's not energy that I'm moving around, it's the Force. Every living thing in the galaxy is connected to the Force, and it flows through the body in currents and webs. There are travel lanes and exit ramps and highways, and for most species these connectors, these pressure points, are roughly in the same place. The key word to that is 'roughly.' There's a pair of points here," Kanan lifted his fingers and touched his forehead, halfway between his eyebrows and his hairline, "that relieve pressure of headaches. On Sullustans it's here," he moved his fingers infinitesimally to the left, "and on Nemoidians it's here," he moved to the inner corners of his eyes, "and on Wookies it's here," back to the forehead, exactly where he had placed his fingers in the first place.

"I was open to the Force to guide me to the right places to touch. I'd never done this on a Twi'lek before. But the Force isn't an end-all-be-all. Just because it's guiding my hand doesn't mean I know where to put it without training and education and knowledge. My fingers didn't connect right and I found a..." he frowned. "You know, I never learned what they were called."

"A pleasure point versus a pressure point?" Hera offered in a dry voice.

Kanan snorted at the name but nodded. "And there you go," he said lightly, "Best relationship in my life flushed down the 'fresher because of an incomplete education." He put the bottle to his lips.

Hera absorbed the information slowly, trying to process it completely. She didn't know about the Force – nobody did, these days – to give credence to Kanan's words but she did have the relaxed sensations she had felt and the common sense that if biological differences existed between species then... Force flows?... probably did, too. She wanted to believe him, they had three years of trust together to make her want to, but she couldn't bring herself to dismiss this kind of thing out of hand.

"How do you know about Sullustans and Nemoidians and Wookies?" she asked carefully.

The flush that spread across his face was all she needed to see.

"You've used this on other girls," Hera accused, and Kanan didn't even try to deny it, just looked down. "You used it to bed them. Was that what this was all about?"

"No-"

"You finally got tired of waiting?"

"No, Hera-"

"Another notch on your belt?"

"No!" he shouted, anger making the volume of his voice echo around the common room. He finally looked at her, green eyes hurt, and ashamed, and so vulnerable all at once. Hera stopped, stared at him, gave him time to either respond or storm out. He made a noise, deep in his throat somewhere between a growl and a moan. "You don't get it," he muttered, and he looked away, frustrated. "You really don't get it."

"Then make me 'get' it," Hera replied. "Help me understand what that," she gestured, vaguely, unwilling to put a name on it, "was all about."

"Hera, I was a space-damned mess when you found me," Kanan said.

"I know that."

"No, I don't think you really do," he countered. "I was thirteen when the Purge happened. I didn't sleep for the first three days and ate out of dumpsters because I didn't have a credit to my name. A smuggler provided the safest place I could sleep, and he was the person who taught me how to live in the new galaxy: Lie. Cheat. Steal. Survive. He gave me up and I gave him up, clones captured me twice and one of those times I made it all the way to the execution platform. That was just the first year."

This was... this was more than Kanan had ever said about his past. In a small handful of sentences he had tripled the amount of knowledge Hera had about what had happened to him, and her heart started to reel at the picture he was painting. An execution platform...

"I looked over my shoulder every day, and I had to figure out how to live without being exceptional, without being me. I had to take jobs that were hard for everyone else but easy for me, I had to stop asking questions left and right and stare people down. I had to start fights just to get rid of all the energy, all the anger and frustration and fear. I had to let it go somehow and the normal way of doing it would get me killed. I was a kriffing teenage runaway. You know what the statistics are for that."

Hera nodded slowly, drinking in all the information but still trying to connect how one lead to another. What did his painful admissions do to lead to what had happened in the cockpit?

"One of my first jobs," he said, eyes locked on a memory, fist clenching a bottle. "Was as a bodyguard at a night club. I was fifteen."

Hera blinked. "At fifteen?"

He shrugged. "I beat up four guys harassing one of the girls. They hired me on the spot. I hadn't figured out how to not stand out yet. I watched as the girls 'danced' and kept the guys from being too grabby, and instead of tips to supplement my nonexistent income they figured they'd continue my... education."

The dots connected quickly and Hera was appalled. "At fifteen?" she repeated, incredulous.

Kanan looked at her, shadows on his eyes. "They'd been living that life since even younger," he said softly. "It was all they knew how to do. I didn't beat them or curse at them, I treated them with respect; and the only way they could repay that kindness was to give me pleasure. Kasimir, he taught me how to survive, but it was those girls who taught me how to be invisible. They showed me the value of playing the stereotype – and please understand, people like me didn't have stereotypes, we were only ever expected to be ourselves. I had no idea I was supposed to be suave, or tough, or intimidating, or rough and tumble; they showed me what a brawler looked like and why it made people look the other way. Six months later the owner found out and I had to either let him beat me senseless or let the planet know I was exceptional. I made the obvious choice."

Hera winced.

"After that I was a shuttle driver. I thought it would work better. My route was by a university, and by then I was tall enough that people thought I was a lot older." He looked up to the ceiling, a hundred memories floating across his eyes. "I was a kriffing teenager, hormones everywhere, waiting for the Empire to find me a third time and kill me... and I had no outlet. It was a soft gig, just driving, and I was so bored, and I didn't know what to do with myself, and they all flirted and batted their eyes and said I was very good. Then one of them asked when I was going to propose. Space, I was an idiot."

Silence drew out after that, Kanan lost in memories and layers of things Hera couldn't begin to understand. Pieces she could wrap her head around: an activist like her had her own share of paranoia, looking over the shoulder, understanding that death was sometimes the better option, and it didn't take much to extrapolate what Kanan's life might have been like. Even teenage hormones she could understand, she had her own stories before she struck out on her own, but not... nothing like what Kanan was describing.

"Does commitment scare you?" she asked carefully.

"No. Yes. I wasn't..." Kanan looked at her again, and for a moment he was the thirteen year old runaway, lost and scared and unwilling to say anything that would get him in trouble. But, one thing Kanan had been for the years Hera had known him, was honest. Sometimes painfully so. He admitted truths and hurts, even when it caused him pain, even if it dragged him through his worst. There were so few people in the galaxy that could do that; it made him special even if he wasn't a Jedi. She realized belatedly why he had downed three bottles of whiskey – he knew how much pain was in this conversation, and he was willing to go through it to the point where he tried to steel himself with the alcohol just to get through it. Hera didn't know how, but she was touching at some of the worst pieces of himself, and he was willing to go through it to be honest with her.

"We were taught..." Kanan blinked rapidly, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "We were raised to be drifters, without attachment, to go from one assignment to another and not be tied down, to live only for the greater good. After the Purge... I couldn't let myself get attached. I couldn't set roots down anywhere because then I would get comfortable and then something would happen to give me away. Something always happened, I can't just turn it off – Force – if I could turn this off I would have cut it out of me years ago."

He took another long draw of the bottle, finishing it with a grunt. He leaned forward again, and Hera didn't flinch, let him put his elbows on the dejirak table and hunch forward. They were approaching the heart of the matter now; she could sense it. Wheels were turning in her mind, she was starting to see where this was going.

"I was off planet three hours later, terrified at how close I came. I tried mercenary work after that, ranger work, anything that was dangerous. I had to challenge myself, had to push myself so that it would be easier to be invisible. There were still women, but I was smarter. I remember on Gorse, there was a metaphor that Gorse was a clingy lover and that Cynda was the brittle partner trying to get away. That was my sex life, Hera: one-night stands and short affairs, one of my many brilliant coping mechanisms while I waited for the other shoe to drop. There was no power play, no superiority, no ownership. Just me, brittle me, trying to get away."

"Is that..." Her started to ask. She frowned, because she knew the answer but didn't know how to connect that final dot. "Is that was this is? Are you trying to get away?"

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't Kanan bursting out laughing. It was a hallow, self-loathing, unnatural sound that vibrated through his rich baritone. Hera shifted on her stool, uncomfortable, half wishing she could run, too. Kanan kept going, the laugh extending and he hunched even further, tapping his head on the table, until at last it tapered off to an awkward giggle and defeated sigh.

He looked up, eyes alight, and shook his head. "I'm not crazy," he said quickly, seeing her look. "It's just... you couldn't have said anything more opposite to what I want."

Hera's predictions all fell apart, confusion lacing through her completely and she cocked her head to the side.

"Hera," he said, and though there was a hint of a laugh it disappeared in an instant, and he went from crazy to dead serious. "Hera, you're the first meaningful relationship I've had since my master."

Silence. Utter silence in her head.

"I've had my share of brawls since joining your crew," he said, "of drunken idiocy. But I've never once needed and outlet since coming here. For the first time since I was thirteen, I have stability, challenge, and a steady presence to steer me in the right direction. I have no intention of giving it up if I can help it."

"Then why?"

"I already said," Kanan said, "I'm a nerf-herding idiot. I tried to do something without the right training to do it right. Do you really think I'd jeopardize what I have right now for an hour of one-sided fun? Kriff, Hera, if it was one-sided it wouldn't even be fun. Even I have standards."

That was the part that made her believe him. "Even I have standards." She understood now, just how little he thought of himself and how low he had sunk. She understood what he'd been forced to do to survive, and she understood how cherished his life now was. But no matter how far down the road he traveled, he still had "standards." There were still lines he wouldn't cross, ideals that he held himself to even as he painfully tried to hide them or wear them away. The cowboy was, indeed, just the surface, and underneath everything else, he was still a Jedi.

"... Thank you," Hera said. She deliberately reached out and wrapped her hand around his. He stiffened at the contact, tense and afraid, and she couldn't blame him. He had spent the last few hours hurting himself in order to be honest. She could be no less.

"Thank you for sharing this with me. I know it wasn't easy. I understand how scared you are. Thank you for admitting all of this. I didn't know..." she frowned, choosing her words carefully. "I learned very early, before I even left Ryloth, what was in store for me when I entered the galaxy. I lost two of my cousins to slave raids, and my uncle killed himself because he knew what was going to happen to his girls, and my aunt was never the same. Before I met you I'd lost track of the number of people who had touched me, or tried to corner me, or just assumed they could have me. I have this huge wall around me to keep me safe, and even the faintest slight just makes me think..."

"Of course it would," Kanan said, voice a little blurry. The alcohol must have finally hit him. "It's a natural reaction. I was the one who messed up."

"But I should have trusted you," Hera said. "We've been together for three years, and I just automatically jumped to the worst conclusion."

Kanan offered a lazy grin. "Not automatically. If it was automatic I would have been jettisoned out an airlock by now."

Hera smiled at the weak attempt at humor. "You've respected my boundaries since the day you set foot on my ship, and I know how strong your crush was at the time."

"... What do you mean 'at the time?' "

… Hera wasn't ready to touch that yet. Enough ground had been covered tonight, and there needed to be time to process it, get comfortable with the knowledge, find a new balance, redress the old scars. Hera didn't love Kanan, not the way he did her. He was handsome for a human, certainly, tender and attentive and supportive. But that kind of love needed more than just physical intimacy, it needed trust and understanding and commitment. Tonight, though, tonight had taken a significant step in the right direction. Hera's defenses were thicker, harder to break; she had priorities, the rebellion came first. But... this was the best partner she had worked with in her life, she trusted him with her life, and she knew more about him now that in three years of knowing him.

She hoped this opened the door to more conversations like this. Well, not like this per se, with alcohol and painful confessions and invasions of space, but conversations about the past, trusting each other with emotional burdens, baring scars in a safe place.

If it did...

If it did... she would think back to this night, and think, this is when I fell in love.

End

Author's Notes: Not much to say here; the fic kind of speaks for itself and there isn't really much to add. This is our headcannon for some of Kanan's past and will inevitably somehow get jossed (or is it Filioni'ed?) later as more of the universe expands. Neither of us are fond of the womanizer trope for guys and we poke at it whenever we have the opportunity. Anybody who read our AC novelizations knows we bent over backwards to make Ezio's affairs palatable for us; Kanan was much easier because the place he was coming from is very different, but we can't not address some of those repercussions. (Not all of course; that's a different fic :P)

Also, note that Kanan never once refers to himself as a Jedi. Some habits die hard.