A/N: This is just a little experiment I cooked up after seeing an AU Kanera comic strip on Pinterest. I'd credit the artist for this idea, but I couldn't find their name. It got me thinking: how would Kanan and Hera have met if he'd drifted to Ryloth after Order 66? I may add to this by and by, or I may not. Let me know what you think!

Fast Friends

It was common enough to see humans on Ryloth, especially in Cornet City, but they didn't usually look like this. A twitchy astromech voiced his concerns to a young Twi'lek and her eyes widened.

"I don't think so," she gasped, unsettled. She stooped down, peering at the human boy curled up next to a street-corner garbage bin. He wore a dirty tunic and tattered brown robe, pulled tightly around him. The Twi'lek girl watched him intently for several moments before she breathed a sigh of relief, turning to the astromech. "No, he's alive. See?" She touched a hand to her chest and inhaled deeply, showing the droid how the respiration caused her chest to rise and fall. Then she pointed to the boy. Still, the droid warbled his uncertainty. "I'm sure," the little Twi'lek answered. She arched an eyebrow. "Go ahead and scan him if you don't believe me."

The astromech didn't believe her, but he didn't intend to do any scanning; that would take too much work. Instead, he extended his shock prod and touched it to the human's elbow. The disheveled boy shot up to a sitting position, eyes wild, and hair even wilder. One trembling hand immediately flew to an odd cylinder hanging from his belt. Reason told the Twi'lek that it must be a weapon, but intuition told her she was safe.

"My droid thought you were dead," she explained by way of apology. The boy stared at her uncomprehendingly, but she was unfazed. "I told him to just scan you. I'd make him say sorry, but he's not."

"That thing," the boy said raggedly, trying to slow his rapid breathing, "looks like it's been through a garbage masher."

The Twi'lek frowned at the insult to her droid. "Well so do you, but I wasn't going to say anything about it."

"Sorry," he mumbled grudgingly. He dragged a hand through his matted hair, self-conscious. The Twi'lek's green eyes narrowed as she looked him over.

"What happened to you?" He opened his mouth, and closed it again, stammering, and suddenly the Twi'lek knew it would be easier for him to answer a different question. "Do you need help?"

His unusually-blue eyes went wide. "I—"

"Hera!"

The little Twi'lek spun on her heel to see her father crossing the street, heading toward her. His mouth was set in that no-nonsense way, but that was fine. She was just as stubborn as he. She lifted her chin and glanced at the boy, giving him a small nod for reassurance.

"Hera, what—" The pale-skinned Twi'lek stopped short when he saw the human boy. He cursed in his native tongue. "A survivor." His eyes darted around and his voice was low. "Come away, girl," Cham Syndulla said, taking his daughter by the hand. "He doesn't need you pestering him. He's a Jedi; he has enough problems."

Hera gasped, looking back and forth between her father and the now-frightened boy. "A Jedi," she whispered. "But I thought you said—"

"Hush!" Cham rebuked sharply in Ryl, startling both Hera and the boy. "These things ought not to be discussed so publicly," he explained, in Basic this time, addressing both of them. He looked the boy up and down, gauging him. The boy, to his credit, was scared but did not shrink back. Defiance burned in his teal eyes. Cham liked what he saw. "How did you get to Ryloth, boy? Stow away?"

He nodded. "Had to get out of the system."

Cham grunted. "When it happened—where were you?"

Hera had no idea what "it" her father was referring to, but the young Jedi obviously did; he turned very pale. "Kaller." He closed his eyes, as if watching a memory. "It was on Kaller."

Cham swore again. "That was…General Billaba's posting, yes?"

To Hera, it seemed that the boy was suddenly fighting tears. "You said he doesn't need pestering," she reminded her father. He glared at her, but didn't press any further. For a moment, he seemed to war with himself over what to do. And then he squared his shoulders, grim resignation on his face.

"Billaba's master, Mace Windu, helped save this world from the Separatists. I cannot forget what the Jedi did for us." Cham paused, checking over both shoulders, and little Hera held her breath.

"Mama freshened up the spare room just yesterday," she said in Ryl, voice pleading. "She said she had a feeling." Hera peered up at her father, hopeful and eager. She had already decided that the boy was someone who needed her friendship, and she was curious about him besides.

Cham tapped one of the astromech's wheels with the toe of his boot. "Why are you so committed to lost causes, child?" He sighed. In Basic: "Take the speeder. Go home, both of you. Boy: whatever your name is, change it."

"Yes, sir."

Cham turned to leave, muttering to himself, and Hera turned to the boy, extending one of her slim hands to him. "I'm Hera," she said with a grin. "We're going to be friends. Come on. Speeder's this way."

He followed her willingly, but his face held no small amount of skepticism as they approached the speeder. "You're really going to pilot this?"

"Of course I am," she scoffed. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she walked to the pilot's side of the craft, pretending to glare, but secretly pleased to see he no longer looked scared and uncertain. The astromech wheeled up next to her and she scrambled atop his dome, using him as a stepping stone to the speeder. Self-satisfied, she settled in her seat and started the engines as the boy hopped in the other side. The droid used his rocket boosters to plunk down in the backseat and chattered to Hera, sounding grouchy.

"That's Chopper," she said cheerfully. The boy grunted, wary. Hera flexed her fingers over the speeder's controls and sat up on her knees so she could see through the windshield. "Strap in! I like to go fast." She flashed him a wicked grin and the speeder shot forward, expertly guided by her small hands. The boy stared at her, incredulous.

"H-how old are you?" He stammered, shouting over the roar of the wind in his face.

"Nine! Have you thought of a name yet?" He maintained a thoughtful silence, and Hera picked up on his need to think. By the time she parked the speeder at home and killed the engines, he was ready with a broad smile and a handshake.

"Kanan," he said. "Kanan Jarrus."

"Kanan," she repeated, nodding in approval. "I like it." She scrambled over the side of the speeder and started walking toward the front door where her mother stood waiting with a ready smile. "Follow me," she called over her shoulder to Kanan.

It was the first, last, and only time she ever had to prompt him to do so.