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He’s taller.
Hera’s hands fly to her mouth, muffling a gasp. There are already tears in her eyes and they spill free as Ezra ducks through the docking ring between the Ghost and Solitaire. Navy hair, the scars on his cheek, a beard. It’s the boy she remembers and a man she doesn’t know. His hair is almost as long as her lek, tied off in a hazardous braid. The last time she’d seen him, he had shorn his hair down to his crown in a bid for maturity. Only nineteen, but he had been mature. Now look at him: grown.
The airlock whooshes shut. Ezra turns his head back to the door and then takes a slow look around the Ghost. The ship is showing her age. They all are. Nine years have passed since Ezra stood with them. None of them had known it would be so long.
Hera reaches out to touch his shoulder, then his face. He hunches forward obediently, his gaze dragging from the ship to her face. Tears soak her cheeks. With her hands at his jaw, there’s nothing to stop her from sobbing with every breath.
“Ezra. Oh, sweetheart.”
To think, they were once the same height. He was once a little boy. Hera strokes his face, crying at the feel of his stubble, his sharp jaw, his cold skin. His eyes are still impossibly blue. Where have you been? she wants to ask them, frightened by his vacant gaze. Where are you now?
He hardly seems to notice her at first. Her thoughts fly to Kanan, blinded and unsure after Malachor. Grief shivers through her. But no, it can't be - Sabine would have warned her. Sabine had warned her, in fact, of something amiss. Hera hadn't understood then what she meant, but she thinks she is beginning to understand now.
And then - Ezra leans into her hand. Something like a smile drifts onto his face. Hera can hardly see it through her tears; and it’s gone in the next second, leaving him with a gentle indifference as though it never meant to be there at all.
"Hey mum." His fingers brush her elbow. They pinch the sleeve of her flightsuit, holding on. "Did you miss me?"
#
"We've found him, Hera, we've found him. At least -"
#
"WUB WUB WUB," Chopper says by way of greeting, wheeling over Ezra's toes. It's not like him to say anything sentimental so Hera isn't surprised by the drawl. What does surprise her is Ezra's delayed reaction; there's no sign of his quick Jedi reflexes, just a slow blink and a belated wiggle of his feet. Like a loth-cat on the verge of sleep.
"Hey Chop," he says, crouching down to the droid. He looks so much smaller curled around his knees. He pulls his shawl across his shoulders so that his body is hidden from view. It seems like an instinctive movement. Maybe he doesn't want Chopper tearing the fabric up under his wheels. It feels like more than that.
Ahsoka and Sabine share a look over Ezra's head. Hera tries not to notice. She'll worry about whatever it is they're not saying later - after she's assured Ezra won't vanish into thin air. He looks like he might. There's an air about him that wants to carry him away. The Force? Or something from the Unknowns?
"WUB WUB!" Chopper accuses, sharing the concern. He flails his manipulators, head component spinning as he scans Ezra with an inter-diagnostic. The beeps and whirs of his sensors are not reassuring. Ezra doesn't seem to notice at all, inspecting Chopper's semi-recent modifications with a quiet interest.
Ezra Bridger, quiet. He was prone to introspection as a young adult, and isolation in the months following Malachor, but he was, on the whole, a curious and social teenager. Even when backed into a corner or with his enemies. Plus, he inherited more of Kanan's wit than his patience; and neither Zeb nor Sabine were particularly soft-spoken role models. The Ghost crew is not exactly known for its subtlety.
All-in-all, Ezra's new disposition is… unsettling. Hera wipes more tears from her eyes, hoping nobody notices. She's probably going to be crying for days. She had hoped - when she could bear to hope at all - they would be happy tears. But then she catches sight of Sabine's frown.
Immediately, Hera grasps for a distraction. "I told Zeb to rendezvous with us down at the Tower. He's getting a transport into Capital City. We don't have to descend right away. I wasn't sure… what your plan was, going forwards. Either of you."
Ahsoka gestures for Sabine to speak first. She's not quite smiling but she seems calm. At peace in the Force, Kanan might say. It's the total opposite to how Hera is feeling.
"I'm not sure, either," Sabine says. She’s grown, too, in the years away from the Ghost. But today she looks like that young teenager from those first days aboard, uncertain with her place and what she believes. "I didn't really think that far. It's been a while since I've seen Zeb. And Ezra -"
His name catches in her throat. She quickly turns her face away, but Hera sees the wetness in her eyes.
"We need to talk about Ezra," Sabine says.
#
Hera doesn’t remember what she was doing when the comm came in. By chance, the Ghost was in orbit over Lothal, suspended in a peaceful moment between one supply-run and the next. Lothal hasn't needed the help of Phoenix Squadron or the wider Rebellion for some years, at least not directly, although there is always more work for Hera and the rebels. It has been a turbulent time since the Galactic Civil War. She is glad for the change - or most of it. There are days she reminisces on her simpler life, before Phoenix and Fulcrum, before the Spectres and Kanan. It used to be her and Chopper and the vast, black sea of space. She was young, then. Barely out of her teens.
She must have been caught up in her thoughts because she didn't hear the computer chime with the incoming comm from the Solitaire. The distance between their two ships was too great for their real-time comms, so she kept up-to-date with the Solitaire through brief recordings sent back-and-forth over days and weeks. It's a slow method, especially with encryption. But there was nothing slow about Chopper that day. Perhaps Hera was deep in repairs, or the engine room, or taking stock in the hull. She remembers Chopper zooming in with his satellite dish spinning - and then Sabine's voice, fast and confused, and the flicker of a hologram in blue.
And then Hera was on her knees, half-fallen over Chopper. Frantic binary brought her back to awareness. Her legs felt weak. Her eyes stung. Sabine's pre-recorded hologram was repeating over and over. Hera could hardly hear it. Chopper's warbling mounted in volume until he was near-shrieking with disbelief.
She supposes she must have replied. She doesn't remember what she said. There was so much to say and yet no words to express the numbing relief that carried her throughout the rest of the day. She worked, she ate, she let her tea go cold. She watched Lothal from the cockpit as the Ghost drifted by.
It's Ezra. The words rang in her earcones. We've found him.
#
Hera cooks dinner for four. The Ghost’s kitchenette shrunk over the years as its crew left her. She pushes wayward cargo and tools aside to clear the space, and wipes the table and counters clean before everyone settles down. It used to be an immaculate space. It had to be, with Kanan on the ship. He had always been the better cook, even blind. Hera tries to maintain the tidiness in his absence, but it’s just one of the many things she can’t find the energy for anymore. Nobody comments on it but embarrassment makes the tips of her lekku curl.
Sabine helps her prepare the vegetables. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, Sabine's hair wet from the shower. Hydro-showers are a luxury. Hera finally installed one on the Ghost two years ago, now that she doesn't have to worry about rationing enough water for two adults, two teenagers, and Zeb. Most of the time, she still uses the sonic. But Sabine has clearly taken advantage of the new addition. Her hair smells nice.
They've moved Sabine's belongings over from the Solitaire. Back into her old room. "Guess I'm staying," she'd said.
"I've missed this," she says now. She twirls a knife around her fingers, watching Hera press the moisture from the meat substitute. "I've got so much to tell you, I don't even know where to start."
Hera knows exactly where she can start - with Ezra, half-asleep or half-unconscious or half-something at the table. His eyes are open. He hasn't moved in over an hour and hasn't said a word. She'd assume he's meditating except it looks like he's died.
"Yeah," says Sabine, following her gaze. "He's been doing that."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Just - goes somewhere in his head. Or maybe outside of his head, we're not really sure. I was worried -"
"What?" Hera presses, when Sabine abruptly cuts herself off.
Sabine glances back towards Ezra, who still hasn't moved. He barely appears to be breathing, let alone listening to them. "I was worried he wouldn't recognise you, honestly."
"What?!"
"Maybe not recognise, so much," Sabine quickly amends. "As acknowledge? Or see? I mean, I'm pretty sure his eyes are working fine, so you don't have to worry about that, but -"
"This isn't exactly reassuring me," Hera interjects.
Sabine huffs. "Ahsoka might be able to explain it. Maybe. She said the Force out in the Unknowns was… wilder, whatever that means."
They both look back towards Ezra. He could be meditating, Hera supposes. But she's seen Ezra meditate before and he always looked calm, like a gentle word or touch would lull him to sleep. He doesn't look like that now. He doesn't look like anything really: his expression is frighteningly blank. Hera knows that the Jedi of old were meant to be in control of their emotions, to never let their anger or desire rule them, and to think logically over impulsively - to maintain peace in all things. But there's a difference between peaceful and apathetic. There's a difference between tempering emotions and not feeling any at all.
Ezra had been a spirited child. Surely… he still is?
Hera calls out to him but he doesn’t respond. He eats, though, when she puts a bowl down in front of him. He tears the rehydrated bread into pieces with one hand and curls his other one around the edge of the bowl. It reminds her of how he used to eat as a boy: possessively, until he learned that meals on the Ghost were consistent and mandatory, even if they were a little sparse. It took months. Now he’s resorting to survival tactics again, and the sight of it chills Hera’s heart.
She brushes his hair back without thinking. He could do with a shower and some rest. All three of them could. From what Sabine has said, they’ve come a long, long way. Hera’s eager to get her hands on the Solitaire’s star charts, but she can wait. Tomorrow, she’ll drop the Ghost plantside to Lothal and rendezvous with Zeb. He almost blew out the comms when she passed on the message that Ezra was found. That was some time ago, now. She’s sure he’s pacing the many floors of the Tower, frustratingly impatient for their arrival. He doesn’t spend much time on Lothal these days. Neither does Hera; preferring to linger in its orbit at a safe distance from the hurt.
It still hurts. There’s still… grief. Some of the pain will ebb now that Ezra is home.
Hera notices then that he’s watching her. His eyes slid over the moment she raised her hand. There are still a few wayward hairs clinging to his cheek, and she sweeps them away. She can almost imagine he’s a teenager again.
He grows more alert by the second, straightening up in his seat as though waking from a hibernating sleep. The cold vacancy in his eyes fades until they are twinkling again, boyish and pleased. At a glance, it does appear as though he’s stirring from a meditation; like he was deep in the Force, but far deeper than any meditation that Hera has ever seen. Especially for Ezra. Kanan used to lament that getting him to meditate was like getting blood from a stone.
And yet, the difference in Ezra is night and day.
“Can I get you anything?” Hera asks.
Ezra smiles at her. It looks like he means it this time. “I’d kill for some apple cake, honestly. Jam apples aren’t the same anywhere else.”
It startles a laugh out of her. It’s such an Ezra thing to say. Two minutes ago, he hadn’t been in a state to hold any sort of conversation, and now he’s joking with her.
“We’ll add it to tomorrow’s shopping list. Jam apples, jogan fruit, and meilooruns.”
He raises a brow. Three faint claw-marks cut through his right eyebrow and across his forehead. It’s almost a mirror-image to the scar on his cheek. “They’re growing meiloorun on Lothal, now?”
“Importing,” Hera says. “The galactic market is back up and running - for the most part. The intra-stellar and -sector markets tend to be more reliable, but Lothal’s a hub for commercial trade again.”
“It was a hub?”
“Before the Imperial occupation, yes. You won’t remember it.”
“I’m not remembering much, these days,” Ezra admits.
It’s an obvious opening. Hera wants to snatch it up and shake nine years’ worth of information from it, but she holds herself back. Ezra needs to rest: and she doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s afraid of what he might say. He’s changed. She’s still yet to find out how much and for what reasons, good or bad, and that… frightens her. Kanan isn’t here to look into the Force and reassure her anymore.
But Ahsoka is. And while they’re no master and padawan, she should be able to gleam insight into Ezra’s state of mind.
“Do you remember the way to the shower, at least?” Hera asks.
He gives her a wonky smile. “Depends. I see you’ve done some redecorating.”
She pointedly doesn’t look over towards the boxes she’d hastily shoved aside to cook. Or the ones stacked against the conservator. And lined up under the counter. The inventory clerks over at Echo Base used to joke that she was carrying half of the Rebel Alliance with her. Hera didn’t appreciate the implication that she was foolish enough to risk compromising the fleet by leaving confidential data lying around - but they did have a point. She hadn’t realised how big the problem was until Kallus mentioned she seemed perpetually on the verge of jumping ship.
She’d shouted at him for that. Abandon the Rebel Alliance, her? Ha!
“If you think I meant the Alliance, then so be it, General,” Kallus had replied in that no-nonsense way of his. “But that’s not what you’re trying to run from.”
She’d shouted at him for that, too. But to herself, Hera had admitted he was right.
She misses Kanan. Every day his absence hurts a little less; and now Ezra is home. And stars, he is so like Kanan that it hurts all over again.
“Your old room… might be a storage unit,” Hera says. She should probably do something about that. Right after she clears the galley and checks what state she left Sabine’s room in four years ago. Explosive components are probably still lying around.
Ezra laughs. “I’ve slept in worse places.” He makes to stand. Hera has to slide out of the booth to let him by. “You mind if I crash early? I’m pretty knackered.”
She watches him go. The pneumatic door to the crew’s quarters hisses shut behind him, leaving Hera alone.
#
Hera doesn’t sleep much that night. Neither, she suspects, does anybody else. Around 0300 ship’s time, she resigns herself to a long night and slumps into the cockpit. A quick scan on the computer reveals low-level power humming through the Solitaire, so she guesses Ahsoka isn’t sleeping either. For a moment, she considers seeking Ahsoka out, but the thought of leaving Sabine and Ezra alone on the Ghost makes her feel funny. They’re hardly children - but Hera can’t shake the thought that they might need her in the night, especially since it’s their first night back. She hadn’t seen any light from Sabine’s quarters when passing by, but she had poked her head into Ezra’s room-turned-storage unit and found it unsurprisingly vacant. Hopefully he’s on the ship somewhere, and Hera runs another scan to check.
A lifesign pings from the top gun. Her sigh of relief rouses Chopper from standby.
“WUB WUB?”
“It’s just me, Chopper.” She gets comfy in the pilot’s chair. Lothal is dark and cloudy tonight. Capital City is underneath it all somewhere, waiting for the sun to rise. Hera feels like she’s waiting for something to happen, too, although she has no idea what. She used to struggle with the idea of Kanan’s brief flashes of precognition through the Force, but now she envies it.
Chopper rolls up beside her chair. “WUB WUBU.”
“Everything’s fine, I just can’t sleep. It’s strange having them back.” She tucks her feet up onto the chair and wraps her arms around her knees. She pillows her face into one of her lekku. “Can you play your holo-recordings? Just - anything.”
He whirs an affirmative and projects a holo from his archives. The first one is of Kanan, young, how she barely remembers him. And then Zeb, and Sabine, and Hera herself striding into the scene. There are a lot of holos of Kanan and Ezra training. Other people come and go: Rex, Ahsoka, the Phoenix crew. These are all things that Chopper deemed important enough to record: the people Hera knew, her ship, their home.
Eventually, there’s a knock at the door. It whooses open, revealing Ezra. He’s stripped out of most of his layers from earlier, including the bronze shawl, and now Hera sees that he’s been wearing a flightsuit underneath all that. It’s neutral and practical. The lack of orange catches her off guard.
“Can I join you?”
She gestures to the seat beside her, which he takes. Chopper re-angles his holo-projector so that it’s hovering between them. It’s of Kanan again, holding his lightsaber in a familiar pose. He says something that Hera doesn’t quite catch, her attention instead on Ezra as he watches the recording.
“I have your lightsaber somewhere,” she says. “Did you make another one?”
Ezra shakes his head. “I thought about it - but I couldn’t find a kyber crystal that liked me. And then it probably wouldn’t’ve done me any good, anyway. Didn’t exactly want to make myself a target.”
“For what?”
“So many things, Hera, you wouldn’t believe it.” He says it with a smile but she feels a chill run down her spine. “Made me miss the good old days with the Inquisitors. Don’t think there’s many of them running around anymore.”
“Not on Lothal,” she agrees. The sector has been relatively peaceful since they drove out Thrawn and Pryce. Hera ordered that any sightings of a red-blade should be reported straight to her, but she hasn’t heard anything in all this time. Hopefully they all died-off not long after Darth Vader.
Another recording begins to play. There’s almost no geographical markers to go off of, but Ezra smiles as though he recognises backwater Lothal by the grass. Hera only recognises it when a loth-cat pops into view. There’s a screech from the Chopper in the recording, and then the holo starts to spin as droid and animal face off in a brief but nauseating battle. The dizzying blue streaks of the holo flying around remind her of hyperspace, and Hera has to look away for feeling sick. When she can bear to look over again, the holo has changed, but the blue and white lights are still spinning in Ezra’s eyes.
He’s gone still. A moment passes - and it’s a moment too long to be natural. Hera reaches across the armrest to him.
“Ezra? Sweetheart?”
He doesn’t respond, not even when Chopper smacks his knee. The vacant look is back in his eyes. He doesn’t list forward, so he must be conscious enough to keep himself in the chair. But for all intents and purposes, he seems to have fallen asleep.
“WUB WUB WUB!”
“I know his eyes are open,” Hera says. “I don’t think he’s awake, though. Ezra?”
Nothing. She checks his pulse even though she can hear him breathing. It’s exactly the same as it was earlier - awake but not awake, meditating but not. She’s seen soldiers retreat into their own heads before, but never like this. It’s alarming. Can it happen anywhere - at any time? It leaves him so vulnerable. Fear compels her to check his pulse again.
He appears to notice her this time - at least on some level. His hand rises to stop hers.
“Ezra? Can you hear me? Chop - comm Ahsoka.”
He wheels away. “WUB WUBU WUB.”
“What? What do you mean ‘no need’? I said -”
The door whooshes open again. Chopper flourishes his manipulators - ta-da! - as Ahsoka sweeps into the cockpit. Hera doesn’t quite startle, but even after all these years, it still amazes how her quietly Jedi can move.
“I see none of us are sleeping,” Ahsoka says. She crouches down beside Ezra and takes his hands. She closes her eyes.
Hera knows that something must be happening. She doesn’t know if she wants it to be something to do with the Force, because that means there’s little she can do about it. If Kanan were here, he would know what to do.
Ahsoka opens her eyes. Ezra blinks at her slowly. Are they communicating in their minds?
“It’ll be best to move him to a bed,” Ahsoka says. “There’s no need to watch over him, he will be well.”
“Will he?”
Ahsoka smiles. She’s effortlessly calming but Hera doesn’t feel calm. She feels like she’s about to vibrate out of her skin.
“Yes, now that he’s home,” Ahsoka says. She encourages Ezra to his feet, and like a drowsy animal, he stands. “He is prone to Force-walking, however.”
“Force-walking?”
“Like sleep-walking, but a bit more dangerous. Which is his room?”
Given the state of Ezra’s old room, Hera leads them into Kanan’s room instead. It’s one of the few places on the ship that she has barely touched. It’s as empty as it was when he inhabited it, which makes it perfect for the occasional guest. All of his Jedi things are in her room now. She thinks that might be where Ezra’s lightsaber is, too.
Ezra lays obediently in the bed. Hera doesn’t want to strip him of his flightsuit without fully understanding his state of mind; and he’s twenty-eight now, she reminds herself. A night spent sleeping in synthetic leather won’t hurt him. Force-walking might, though, according to Ahsoka’s vague explanation of it:
“It can be easy to lose your way in the Force. That’s why padawans begin with assisted meditation before opening themselves to its immensity.”
Hera pulls the duvet up over Ezra’s chest. She doesn’t know what else to do. “I thought… Jedi that lost their way fell to the Dark side?”
“It’s a different kind of lost,” Ahsoka says. “The Force is vast for Jedi and Sith. It reaches and connects all things. Usually, those who use the Force limit themsevles to connecting with the things around them. Reaching much further is difficult - and not without its risks. Reach too far and you may forget your way back.”
“And that’s what’s happening to Ezra?”
“I think so. There are advantages of looking so far into the Force, after all.”
Are there? Hera shakes her head, deciding not to ask. They leave Ezra there, not sleeping but not entirely awake, and step out into the hall. Ahsoka doesn’t seem particularly worried, but then she’s always been hard to read.
“He has survived this long,” she says. “He will be well.”
Hera can’t help but glance back towards the door. “I don’t know anything about what he’s been through.”
“Neither do I. I can only guess.”
“I'd hoped… to find that reassuring.”
Ahsoka laughs. “I don’t think you need my reassurances, General. I know Ezra will be safe and well. He is with you.”
#
"We've found him, Hera, we've found him. At least, we think we have. I don’t know, something’s wrong. I bet it’s got something to do with all this ancient astronavigation ritualistic snogwash -"
#
Hera manages a handful of hours’ sleep. It’s not the worst night she’s ever had, but she scarcely refrains from checking Ezra’s room every fifteen minutes like a fretful new mother. Chopper eventually parks himself in the doorway and threatens to zap her if she leaves. Hera used to run this ship. She used to have three kids and two bigger kids to look after.
In the morning, the Ghost and Solitaire part ways. Hera hadn’t expected Ahsoka to stick around so the sudden departure doesn’t surprise her. It’s more of a ‘see you later’ than a farewell, even for Sabine, who has spent the last four years aboard the Solitaire. The two of them wave Ahsoka off at the airlock and manually override the docking mechanism. By the time Hera returns to the cockpit, the Solitaire is long gone.
Sabine joins her as the co-pilot, and together they drop the Ghost into Lothal’s atmo.
“I’d kill for a space waffle right now,” Sabine says. “Do you think Zeb has any?”
Hera laughs. She’s definitely heard that one before.
Zeb has an entire crate of space waffles waiting for them in the Tower. He also has grey hair. He started going grey about a year ago (Hera remembers the grousing) and Sabine nearly falls over herself in vindictive excitement.
"Look at you, old man!"
She punches his arm. Zeb scoops her into a hug-slash-headlock before she can further injure his pride. Hera's not going to bet on who will win, but it will definitely be Sabine.
Ezra lingers for a long, long time in the doorway.
"Don't'cha like our redecorating, kid?" Zeb asks by way of greeting. Beside him, Sabine tries to tap-out or possibly punch him into silence. He doesn’t notice.
Ezra slowly scans the interior of what used to be his home. Since that fateful day they had whisked him away from Lothal, the tower has been abandoned to disrepair. The Ghost crew have been using it as a touchpoint ever since the liberation, and Sabine’s worked her artistic magic on the inside. It’s hard to imagine Ezra used to live here on his own. Now, it’s a comfortable place. Zeb fitted a proper kitchen. There are bedrooms on the lower levels. Sabine re-wired the security mechanisms and now there’s a turret on the roof. It even functions as a radio tower again.
“We hope you don’t mind,” Hera says.
Ezra may-or-may-not be completely with them right now. It’s hard to say. He’s quieter even in his moments of awareness – calmer. It must be a Jedi’s burden. To perceive but not act. Listen and say nothing.
Then he cracks a smile. “Nah, it looks great. Shame about the smell.”
Zeb lunges at him. Sabine trips him on the way over and Hera narrowly avoids becoming the filling of a human-and-Lasat sandwich.
“Can’t believe you’re still scrawny!” Zeb exclaims, hefting Ezra up by his flightsuit and shawl. “It took us so long to grow you out of your twig-stage, and now look at you! I’m throwing together a bean hotpot tonight and you’re eating double helpings. And what the hell have you done to your hair? Don’t they have combs out in the ass-end of space?”
“You wouldn’t know a comb if it hit you in the face, but sure, I’ll bring you one back next time,” Ezra quips. It sounds so normal that Hera could cry.
“There ain’t gonna be a kriffing next time!” Zeb says, shaking him. His eyes look suspiciously wet as well. “You’re staying where I can see you for the rest of your life!”
“Get in line,” Sabine says. “He’s not leaving my sight first.”
“WUB WUB!” Chopper agrees.
Ezra’s gaze slides to Hera. Dangling two feet above the ground in the hands of a Lasat would be a solid basis for a persuasive plea for help if said Lasat wasn’t Zeb, and if Ezra wasn’t wholly capable of squirming his way out of any sticky situation, with or without the help of the Force.
“Sorry hon,” Hera says with a smile. “Democratic vote.”
As far as she’s concerned, he’s never wandering off alone ever again. There’s not much she can do about his Jedi ability to leap impossible distances in any direction, but she can ensure he always has a tracker, a comm, and a route home from any star system, sector, or back-alley planet on the other side of the galaxy. She’s looking forward to uploading the star charts from the Solitaire.
And if Hera ever sees a purrgil again, she doesn’t care where it takes him, as long as it takes the Ghost too.