Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 1

Ezra rolled over in bed for the sixteenth time, huffed, and thrust his chin into his pillow. He was tired. Attacking the Stygeon Prime prison wasn’t their average mission, and he shivered involuntarily at the thought of the Inquisitor.

But that memory wasn’t keeping him awake. He couldn’t get Kanan’s words out of his head: If all I do is try, it means I don’t truly believe I can succeed; so from now on, I will teach you.

He’d sounded determined. He’d even started an easier, but thorough, lightsaber practice right then.

But Ezra couldn’t shake away the cautious voice that had been his companion for years. The voice that warned him not to hope. To keep his head down and find ways to survive. And now he wondered if he’d been so lonely and so desperate for so long that he was losing his smarts and good sense.

He’d surprised himself by how quickly he’d come to admire the crew. By wanting to stay with them that first day. He’d craved the camaraderie and teamwork they shared…but there’d been no reason to stay. No one had asked—until Kanan had shown up at his tower. After that, he’d gotten used to life aboard the Ghost fairly quickly.

Which was dangerous. Getting used to a good thing never ended well, and after all that happened today…perhaps he should still be wary. Kanan never lied, but if he changed his mind once, he could change it again.

Ezra rolled over for the seventeenth time and ground his teeth at the sound of Zeb’s snoring. That was something he hadn’t gotten used to. With a sigh, he sat up, grabbed his pillow in one fist and his blanket in the other, and climbed to the floor. He considered kicking his roommate for good measure, but at the last second, decided he didn’t care that much.

He stopped in surprise when the common room door whooshed open; though the lights were low, Kanan sat on the couch, flicking through files on a datapad. Ezra turned away, but before he could vanish into the hall, Kanan called, “Kid? Something the matter?”

Ezra half-turned. “Can’t sleep.” He debated with himself for a second and then marched into the room, dragging his blanket over his shoulder. “Zeb snores. I almost kicked him.”

Kanan chuckled. “Then you’d have a wide-awake and angry Lasat on your hands.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ezra climbed on the couch, drew the blanket around his shoulders. He noticed the holocron on the derjak table and started to reach for it, but changed his mind and sat back. “What were you doing with that?”

Kanan glanced down at the cube. “Looking through the files. There’s a lot more information on there than Master Kenobi’s message.”

“Huh.”

Ezra pulled up his knees, squeezing his pillow against his chest, and wrapped his arms around his legs. He stared at the holocron for a while, curious about the information inside that he hadn’t seen. But not daring to ask about it, or to ask the question pressing on his mind. He glanced at Kanan; the man seemed absorbed in his work on the datapad. But he glanced at Ezra just then, and half-turned toward him. “Something on your mind, kid?”

Ezra looked back at the holocron and stared at it for a minute. “What you said today…” he ventured at last, “about teaching me—really teaching me, not just trying—did you mean it?” His voice was small, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Kanan.

But Kanan’s voice softened a little. “Yeah. Yeah, I meant it.”

“Okay.” Ezra rested his chin on his knees. The silence that followed became awkward, and he added, “I—I just wanted to make sure.”

He heard a quiet thump as Kanan set down the datapad. “Because of our search for Master Luminara?”

Ezra nodded.

Kanan gave a long sigh. “Don’t take that personally. I just thought that…well, I…”

“I know: you wanted me to have the best teacher,” Ezra muttered.

Kanan sighed again and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I gotta be honest with you, kid. I…never finished my own Jedi training.”

Ezra sat stock still for a moment and then slowly turned to look at Kanan.

“Never went through the trials, never was knighted…” He spoke without looking at Ezra or anything else. “I was still a Padawan learner when…” he drew a breath. “When the Jedi were wiped out. In fact, I wasn’t much older than you when it happened.”

Ezra sat upright in surprise. Kanan continued, “So when I thought you had the chance to be trained by an experienced master, one with years of discipline and practice—I thought it would be best for you.” His voice was quiet. “There’s so much I’ve forgotten…and you need a master with patience and focus.”

Ezra had the impulse to say that he’d never met anyone as calm and confident and focused as Kanan. (Except maybe Hera.) Never met anyone as brave, as smart, as good with a blaster. As protective. As caring.

What came out of his mouth was somehow the opposite.

“Yeah, I don’t think that training on top of the Ghost was fun for either of us.”

Kanan had been about to speak, but he checked himself and glanced at Ezra with a rueful expression. Ezra shrugged and mumbled, “Sorry.” He suddenly added, “But if you weren’t patient and focused—you wouldn’t have offered to train me in the first place.”

“Well….maybe not. But you’re a good kid, and I thought you deserved better.”

“I don’t think so,” Ezra said. And then realized—for the second time that day—how his words actually sounded. He faced Kanan. “I—I mean…look, I’m a street kid and a thief. Not the kind of person someone would notice—would want—or would take in—well, I mean, except for you guys, and…ugh!” He groaned and ran his hands through his hair; he was doing an impressively bad job of communicating. “I’ve always been a nuisance, okay? So for someone like me…well, for you guys to offer me a spot in the crew and a place to stay, and—and a chance to be someone more than a street rat—that’s all I want, Kanan. I don’t need the brightest and the best.”

Kanan was silent. Ezra bit his lip, wondering if he’d said too much. Regretting half of it, and wondering if Kanan would think he was ungrateful. Because Kanan had meant well, had done what he thought was best, was still trying to care for him in ways he didn’t really deserve. He half-buried his head in his sleeves so that his tone was muffled. “And no one ever…wanted me until you guys came along.”

Kanan stirred and drew a long breath. Ezra was too afraid to look at him and see his expression. No doubt he’d ruined whatever understanding they’d had. But Kanan’s words surprised him.

“Guess I really messed up today.”

Ezra lifted his tousled head and ventured a glance at his master. Kanan was staring across the room, his expression rueful again. Ezra wasn’t completely sure what to say. As the silence dragged out, he finally ventured, “You didn’t mean to. And I’m not mad.” He frowned abruptly as another recent incident came to mind, and he slowly straightened. “And I really didn’t mean what I said this morning. It’s not your fault if I’m undisciplined, and I’ll try harder—I mean, I’ll do it.”

Kanan nodded slowly. “We both will.” He glanced at Ezra and smiled. “Don’t worry; I’m not going back on my word.”

“Okay.” After a pause, he murmured, “Even…even if we find another Jedi master?”

“I’ll still train you,” Kanan said.

Ezra let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Okay.” His expression must have looked pitifully relieved because Kanan reached over and patted his shoulder. “Also, you got a point. We’ll stay on the ground for future training.”

Ezra grinned. “Sounds good. And Kanan?”

Kanan looked at him.

“I—I really don’t care that you didn’t finish your training.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Ezra added, as he thumped his pillow onto the next cushion, “Nobody knows everything the Jedi did anyway, besides swinging around lightsabers. It’s not like I’m missing out on common knowledge.”

Kanan laughed suddenly. “Guess not.”

Chapter Text

Hera was relaxing on her bunk, pleasure reading, when her cabin door opened and then shut. She didn’t have to look to know Kanan had entered. None of the rest of the crew barged into her room unless it was an emergency. Then again… she pushed aside the curtain in front of her bunk and saw him with his back against the door like he’d escaped something unnerving. Staring at the ceiling with a stricken expression.

“I messed up, Hera. Big time.”

Hera sat up and set the datapad aside. “How specifically?

Kanan rolled his head to the side and gave her a wry and twisted expression.

“I’m sorry, love.” Hera got out of bed and came to his side. “What happened?”

Kanan sighed and ran a hand down his face. “The kid thought I was going to dump him on Master Luminara. Abandon him, basically.”

“And did you tell him—?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s cleared up now.” Kanan sagged onto the floor, still leaning against the door. “I’m just sorry he spent the day thinking I’d given up on him.”

Hera knelt beside her friend. “And he didn’t say anything?”

“He wouldn’t, Hera. It’s been years since anyone cared for that kid—if at all—and if he thinks we’re going to leave him, he’s not going to make things worse by criticizing our decisions.” He sighed heavily. “The worst of it is, I should have guessed. Should have paused for two seconds and thought. I’ve been where he is.” He buried his face in his hands. “I’ve been there.”

Hera put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry; I’m not second-guessing my decision to train him.” Kanan’s voice was dry as he lowered his hands. “Just everything I’ve done since.”

“No, Kanan. Don’t do this to yourself, not again.”

“Okay, okay.” He leaned his head against the door, shut his eyes for a second, and then looked at her. “Just help me not to scar this kid for life.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that. You know he looks up to you, and I don’t think anything you do will change that. And you’ve talked through the problem now. So let it stay in the past.”

Kanan nodded and shut his eyes. But after a second, he opened them again and focused on her. “What I don’t understand is why you went along with the rescue mission. I’m glad you did—we all needed the truth. But you thought it would be good for both of us if I trained the kid.”

Hera sighed and sat with her own back against the door, side by side with Kanan. “To be honest, I thought you and Master Luminara would either share the job, or you would resume your training under her. Either way—you’d return to the path you’d lost.”

“And that’s a good thing because…?”

Hera pinned him with a look.

“I know—we’ve been over this.” His voice went quiet. “I need to hear it again.”

Hera smiled and took his hand. “Because there is so much more you can be, Kanan Jarrus. You’re a good man, and you’ve given us all so much—but you’ve settled for ‘good enough’. And I know you care more than that—about the galaxy, about its people, about all of us….” She clasped his hand in both of hers. “And I know you care too much for Ezra to walk away now, and that’s why you’ll train him well. With or without help from another master.”

Kanan nodded.

“He needs you, now more than ever, love.”

“I know.” Kanan gave a faint smile. “I think he needs all of us.”

They were quiet for a moment. Just as Hera was about to add something—something that would have no doubt been poignant and profound—Kanan suddenly looked her in the face and flashed a grin. “You should have been a therapist.”

“Oh, I could never sit still that long, and you know it.”

They both laughed. After a moment, Kanan squeezed her hand and smiled. “Thanks.”