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Kanan sighed. The ‘fresher door closed swiftly behind him, blocking out most of the artificial light from the galley. There was a single bulb above his head, blinking periodically - one of those emergency bulbs that was weaker than the cabin and galley lighting.
It was usually a tight squeeze, but with the addition of Chopper whirling at his feet, it was impossibly claustrophobic.
“I’m not going to use the shower,” Kanan rolled his eyes, replying to the droid’s volatile chortle. “you’re just gonna sit in there.”
Chopper replied vehemently again, the excessive chatter of his beeps indicating that he was not at all pleased with Kanan standing-in as caretaker.
“Hera’s busy, she can’t give you an oil bath right now.” Kanan rubbed the back of his neck, trying to recall the reason he was doing this “But you need one, so you’re welcome.”
Hera hadn’t ordered him to tend to Chopper, hadn’t even asked. Kanan had watched her clean the droid before, once or twice, usually in one of the cargo holds with an old blanket underneath him.
It was one of the more strenuous tasks, as it aided Chopper and his rusting joints. Hera was well-rehearsed at the task, but it was time-consuming. With her assignments from Fulcrum doubling as of the late, Hera was struggling to manage. Not that she would ever admit it, of course she wouldn’t. Her poor time management would only affect her negatively because she would never sacrifice Chopper’s oil bath or the upkeep of the ship, instead she would sleep less. Hera wouldn’t describe it the same way, just explained that she was staying up later and waking up earlier to get a head-start on the daily tasks.
Kanan thought surprising her with one task crossed off her ever-growing list of duties would make her appreciate him more. Of course, she already did. Hera wasn’t shy with compliments regarding his assistance on missions or his handiwork throughout in the Ghost. Although he was greedily awaiting something more.
Kanan would never rush or pressure her, because while Hera was a fast-paced, organised person when it came to contacts, agents and missions, she was albeit less rationale when it came to her personal feelings and subjects like relationships. He wasn’t a man that would even gently nudge her towards the idea of something more than captain and crew.
What he initially intended to do was gradually introduce her to each charming aspect of himself, highlights of his personality that he considered irresistible.
Although, that didn’t seem to work on Hera. She batted away his flirtations and quips with ease, and refused his assistance if it were to involve being in close contact with each other.
While it may sound oddly specific, it was actually how Kanan came to realise that potentially his feelings for Hera were reciprocated. The previous day he located Hera sandwiched between the bulkheads, struggling to gain purchase to secure the new panel because of the uncomfortable position.
Naturally, Kanan verbally offered to help her - she declined. Then he slowly scooted closer to her, first kneeling on the upper level then eventually sliding into place beside her. Hera glared at him, to which Kanan simply smiled then began to unwind the screwdriver from her grip.
Hera was more than tight-lipped about feelings, with the suggestion of romance thwarting her like air to a fish. Lately, there had been the occasional slip-up such as wandering eyes and the briefest of touches that prompted Kanan to believe that his feelings would be matched.
Between the bulkheads, Kanan had intended to work as normal, his assistance was merely that - there was no ploy for anything else. It didn’t go unnoticed to him that Hera’s breath caught when their shoulders brushed or how her chest sharply rose as he leaned over to tighten a bolt in the panel closest to her.
He was grinning thinking about it, even if he was elbow-deep in droid oil that stung his eyes, forcing him to blink back tears.
Chopper chimed a pattern of binary beeps that translated to a rude message, describing Kanan as a clumsy maid.
“Yeah, whatever, at least I’m not an expired droid.”
Chopper wheezed violently. The electro-rod extended instantly, and Kanan gulped. Instead of favouring slight electrocution, Chopper whirled his oiled midsection, spinning almost insanely. The oil sprayed, coating the small room in the greasy liquid.
Kanan, now also bathing in oil, hissed at Chopper “What is wrong with you!”
The oil seeped into his clothes, suctioning his shirt to his chest. It was uncomfortable to move, he realised as he stood up.
Chopper wheezed a noise that sounded similar to a human laugh as he came to a stop.
“Everything okay in there?” Hera’s melodic voice called. It was clear which meant she was right on the opposite side of the door, obviously privy to the commotion.
“Perfect.” Kanan whistled, attempting his best suave tone. The taste of oil was heavy on his lips, so he reached for a cloth to wipe it off.
Chopper rolled around him, swapping places to allow Kanan to pat his face dry. With no intention to be courteous in mind, Chopper overrode the locking mechanism with a few clicks. The door whooshed open to reveal a very amused Twi’lek.
Kanan spun in place, which was difficult to considering the cramped space. He’d already loosened the tie from his hair and unbuttoned his shirt, cleaning the remnants of Chopper’s maintenance oil from himself.
Hera’s face scrunched up as she caught a whiff of oil. She slowly reacted to the events unfolding, surveying Chopper first with a scowl that delighted Kanan - at least she knew the droid was to blame. Then she glanced at Kanan, which immediately sent a flutter to his stomach.
“You gave Chopper an oil bath?”
Hera’s eyes failed to remain on his face, sinking lower and widening when she noticed the oil on his shirt, clinging to his torso.
“I did, Captain.” He mock-saluted, his hand greasy with oil. With the movement, his shirt opened more, continuing to slide and stick against him.
Hera’s mouth curved at the edges, battling a grin that Kanan wouldn’t let her forget.
“Who’s having the bath exactly, you or Chopper?” Hera nodded to his hand after eventually peeling her eyes from his chest.
“Well,” Kanan shrugged, reaching to cast an oiled lock of hair away from his eyes “Chopper mostly.”
“There’s oil in your hair.” Hera sent a pointed look to his hair.
“Yeah, that’s deliberate.” Kanan replied cooly, throwing the towel around the back of his neck “It helps with…growth.”
“It’s for droids.” Hera tilted her head, a finger coming up to rest on her lip. She’d removed the gloves at some point, good riddance. Kanan always liked her actual hands.
”Don’t you think I know more about hair than you do?”
Hera hummed, looking away from him. Chopper chortled a couple of beeps, as if replying to her wordless hum. When she glanced at the droid, he teetered up to meet her eye. After a string of excessive binary, Chopper begrudgingly rolled out of the ‘fresher.
Kanan arched his brow, somewhat envious that Chopper easily listened to Hera’s commands.
Kanan shifted uncomfortably in his drenched clothes, peeling a section of his shirt to conceal more of his bared chest. For once, there was no intention to draw Hera’s gaze. Although when he finished fixing himself, he looked up to find Hera had already taken the steps to close the space between them.
Kanan’s heart vibrated under his shirt, as Hera was mere breaths from him.
Hera reached up to run her hand over the oil seeped in his hair, rubbing a couple strands between her fingers. Her nose crinkled as she continued to tousle his tresses, smiling amusedly at him.
“You’re probably making it worse.” There was a high to his voice that he would deny to anyone else, especially because Chopper was no longer a witness.
”You want me to stop?” Hera pulled back her hand by inches, resting her wrist against his head. In the mirror above the sink he could see her green skin, coated in oil and shiny under the illumination of the single bulb.
”Not really.” Kanan leaned into her touch again, closing his eyes and awaiting the feeling of her gloveless fingers running through his hair.
Hera obliged, stepping closer to stroke his oil-soaked tresses.
If being caressed was the preferred payment for cleaning her droid, Hera was economically generous.
Zeb had only recently joined the human and the Twi’lek, he considered himself having no other choice. It sounded insulting, but it wasn’t. A spur of the moment decision, but that’s all he had - a second to decide. He needed the lift, or he would die with his homeland.
There was the initial uncertainty about why Kanan and Hera were on Lasan in the midst of its destruction. Zeb came to blows with the Jedi instantly, believing him to be some pirate scum searching for souvenirs. It was only when he saw the blade ignite he realised how ironic the situation was - the most recent species to be persecuted prior to Lasats were the Jedi.
They’d worked alongside each other well, it didn’t take long for him to learn the melody of Hera and Kanan’s routine, especially during combat. It was obvious they’d be working together for a while, the Twi’lek knew exactly how to spin around a lightsaber, successfully avoiding its burn.
It was difficult to fight alongside others that weren’t Lasats. It was especially difficult to pick up a blaster and not a bow-rifle, not because he was unfamiliar with boxy guns but because he missed Lasan.
It was an easy job, most of the time. The earnings weren’t insufficient, the Ghost wasn’t uncomfortable as it was a large enough vessel for everyone to have their own space. During the first few months, he hadn’t deliberately hung around in the common room or cockpit, favouring himself as unsatisfactory company - because what did he have to add to conversation.
A slavers’ world, Hera called it. She was naturally uncomfortable the moment she stepped off the ramp of the Ghost, the home she called her ship. Zeb had clocked Kanan keeping close to her, a hand ghosting around her side occasionally - it was less of him suggesting that Hera was spoken for and more an attempt to comfort her unease. He could tell because she would throw a discreet look at Kanan before stepping out of his embrace. Zeb found his heart panged out of jealousy, not because he felt drawn to either Hera or Kanan, but because he envied that they both had found their person, someone to share quiet looks with, someone that was the keeper of all the others’ secrets.
The gangster scum of Tatooine always went for the women, even if a perfectly expensive Lasat stood before them. Now that he was the sole survivor of the downfall of Lasan, surely there would be a prettier penny to his sale.
Hera dodged multiple punches and a collar that one of the sleemos tried to drag over her lekku. Whatever crusade she was on with her multiple missions dragging her all over the Outer-Rim was surely going to kill her one day. Nethertheless, she persevered.
Zeb took a blade to the shoulder, deliberately. Not because he was particularly rusty, but whatever way he had thrown Hera away from the dagger targeting one of her leks, he wasn’t sure of the names, put his shoulder right in front of the blade.
The two of them, mostly Kanan, hauled him back to the ship. Somehow a wounded Lasat, a Twi’lek and a tall human shuffled into the ‘fresher.
It was Hera who fished around for the medical supplies stored in the compartments under the sink, graciously turning her body so her eyes were away from Zeb. Kanan was nimbly trying to remove the armour coated in blood, glued into place as it met the purple fur of the Lasat’s body.
“Are you allergic to bacta?” Hera asked quietly, the noise of rummaging through the medical kit echoing in the small chamber.
“I don’t think so.” Zeb grunted as Kanan unfastened the strap of armour closest to the injury “We didn’t use that type of stuff on…” He bit his lip, any reminder of his homeland was more painful that the wound on his shoulder “Use it anyway. I guess we’ll find out if I can stand them.”
Hera hummed, then peeled a thin slice from the pad, her fingers catching on the glue.
“It’s sticky?” Zeb drew his brows together, eyeing the bacta suspiciously.
”Yeah, it’s like a patch.” Hera said after a moment, somewhat bewildered that Zeb clearly didn’t know about bacta “You just…stick it onto the injury.”
“It’ll still work over the hair?” Zeb murmured, biting back a groan of pain.
“Yeah, I think -“ She stopped short, turning to look at Kanan “I think it will?”
”Yeah, it’ll be fine. We won’t shave you.” Kanan’s face was a commingling of amusement and surprise.
A smack of the cabinet door startled both Kanan and Zeb, with the latter seizing up in pain again after his shoulder connected with the wall.
“Hera!”
“We have razors now!” Hera said excitedly, her eyes flashed as if shedding Zeb’s fur was a better idea than soaking him in bacta.
“No.” Kanan pointed a finger at her, the lilt of a laugh affecting his deliberate condescending tone as if they’d had the same conversation previously.
“But the hair -“
“I highly doubt Zeb would appreciate a haircut right now.”
Hera huffed, crossing her arms “I suppose my work here is done. Kanan, love, cover the patch with the gauze and Zeb,” she smiled neatly at him “there’s painkillers too.”
Zeb nodded in reply, wordlessly appreciating the assistance. The kindness was overwhelming, he hasn’t struggled with that before. All he could do was nod curtly and send half-hearted smiles, and hope it was understood that he was grateful.
Hera only had to take a single step to reach the door, it swooshed open at her command. Before leaving, she looked over her shoulder, glancing warmly at him.
“Thanks for today. I appreciate it.” She said softly “I’m sorry about your shoulder, still.”
“Could’ve been worse.” Zeb replied lowly, then even quieter added “Thank you, both of you, too. I guess.”
Hera tilted her head, twisting in place “For letting you get stabbed?”
“For patching him up.” Kanan corrected, glancing between the two of them.
”For coming to Lasan.” Zeb avoided both of their penetrating gazes, a warmth rushing to his face.
“Oh.” Hera beamed, her shoulders relaxing. She seemed to sway in place for a moment before disappearing altogether, her heavy boots echoing down the galley.
Kanan straightened, resting against the shower door. Hera had obviously overestimated how much help Zeb required. Kanan offered the gauze to him, holding it between them just in case Zeb needed further assistance. He didn’t, choosing instead to take the gauze from Kanan.
Zeb shifted where he sat, rolling his arm slightly to wrap a slither of gauze around the strange-smelling bacta patch.
Kanan was always quieter when Hera wasn’t around, like he was constantly searching for something to say. Zeb couldn’t be harsh, he had been acting the same way. The sole survivor of their own kind, that was perhaps a conversation they could share.
Not at this moment. Kanan stepped across to the sink, fiddling with a small bottle. When he emptied the pills into the cap, he pushed it into Zeb’s view.
Kanan picked up the bloodied armour and towels, then headed towards the door. Only when Kanan allowed the door to slide open, revealing them to the harsher light of the galley, did Zeb realise an opportunity for conversation.
“Love?”
Kanan stopped at the door. Zeb didn’t miss the way the Jedi smiled to himself, his mouth pressed tight as if he wasn’t going to reveal anymore. Zeb understood, he wasn’t going to press either of them for confirmation of whatever relationship they had going on. It just seemed like a hearty and relevant conversation piece.
“But if anyone calls her that, we’ll never hear the end of it.” Kanan shook his head “When you’re done, you should come up top. Chopper and I like to annoy Hera as she sets for hyperspace, and you’ll probably enjoy it too.”
Then he disappeared, following the same direction that Hera went.
Zeb continued to wind gauze around his wound, it wasn’t as painful anymore, and he hadn’t even taken the painkillers yet.
Sabine hovered outside the door, her hand hesitantly pressed on the button for the locking mechanism. Everyone had cleaned up after the mission, it was the usual routine. Although it had taken longer as Kanan insisted on rejecting any and all medical assistance, eventually he begrudgingly allowed Zeb to tackle him into the 'fresher with a wad of gauze and bacta clutched in his hands. Apparently, that was the normal post-mission activity if one was bleeding heavily, or the common room table was fairly suitable as the makeshift medical bay.
Sabine relaxed as the door closed behind her. The bottles of solution were laid out next to the sink, and a small bowl. She reached for a towel, rolling it around her neck. It was one she brought with her from the academy, it was already home to dyes and bleach. While she couldn’t colour her hair at school, the final night before her escape she decided to bleach a few strands. The following day after spending a few stolen credits at the markets, favouring a bottle of red to soak into her hair.
“I think the purple, personally.”
Sabine tossed her head quickly, a reflex. A wet section of hair slapped her neck in a whiplash-like style. She pulled the towel tighter around her neck, concealing her jaw and mouth.
“If you’re asking for opinions.” Hera stood at threshold of the door Sabine hadn’t even realised had opened. Even with her astuteness, she hadn’t clocked the artificial light bleeding into the tiny room.
“And you didn’t. Which I now realise.” Hera, at least, looked guilty for startling her.
Sabine loosened the towel from around her neck, flickering her eyes from Hera to the mirror.
The captain hesitated, then leaned to step backwards.
“Wait,” Sabine averted her gaze, staring at her reflection instead “You can stay. If you want. I might need help with the back.”
“Okay.” It was obvious how Hera tried unsuccessfully to hide the delight in her voice.
The door quickly shut behind her as she stepped to join Sabine at the sink. The aroma of bleach was strong in the confined space.
“You need gloves.” Sabine interjected as Hera reached for the bottles of dye “It can burn skin.”
“Burn?” Hera repeated, suddenly wary of the product.
“Well, it’s irritating. You’re not supposed to - don’t you know - actually,” Sabine explained, pausing from rubbing the mixture into her hair “I suppose you wouldn’t.”
“You’re going to put this on your hair and let it burn you?”
“No, it doesn’t really work like - it’s -“ She muttered, attempting to conceal the beginnings of a grin “It doesn’t hurt or anything. It just changes the colour of the hair.”
Hera nodded understandingly, although Sabine assumed she most likely didn’t understand. They worked in silence for a moment, but Sabine could tell the captain was fighting against talking.
“I suppose the academy didn’t support the super colourful hair?” Hera’s fingers twitched in Sabine’s hair as she spoke. She was being careful which was appreciated.
“Or painted armour? No, they didn’t.” Sabine replied after a beat, finding it easier to speak than she thought “Everyone had to look the same.”
”Well, that’s no fun.” Hera lifted the bottle again, her brows furrowing at the scent “You paint, don’t you?”
”A little, I guess.”
”More than a little, I’ve seen your room.”
“Oh - it can be washed off.”
“Don’t be. I like it. It’s your room, paint it how you want.” Hera paused, meeting Sabine’s gaze in the reflection “Mine looks boring now, in comparison.”
“I could always - if you want, I could paint you something.” Sabine offered, a tinge of pink on her cheeks, hopefully disguised by her wet hair and raised towel.
“You should.” Hera smiled, continuing to run her fingers through damp sections of hair.
Sabine was going to tread further, surprised at how she enjoyed talking to Hera. They wouldn’t fashion themselves as sisters of any sort, not yet. She opened her mouth to suggest painting styles for Hera’s room, hoping it hadn’t just been a throwaway comment.
Then she paused, not because of any second-thought, but she noticed Hera’s head dip, almost meeting Sabine’s towel-padded shoulder.
Sabine twirled around, reaching to place a sticky, gloved hand on her “Are you -“
“Uh-hu.” Hera blinked rapidly, then raised her own hand to steady herself “We’re bonding. This is nice. Let’s keep talk -“
Sabine’s eyes widened as Hera dropped, hitting the floor with a thunk.
“Kriff.”
There was another curse as Sabine stepped around Hera’s unconscious frame, cringing at how awkwardly she lay in a heap beside the shower. The room was too cramped to be comfortable, and it certainly didn’t accommodate for people lying in horizontal positions.
“Uh, Hera." Sabine poked the leathery armour on Hera’s shoulder, then tentatively reached for her face. The lekku haloed around her head were twitching, so at least Sabine had confirmation that the woman was alive.
This would be usually be the time where she’d scrub runaway dye from behind her ears and over her forehead. Instead, she hoisted the unconscious Twi’lek under the arms.
With a grunt, she elbowed the locking mechanism as her hands weren’t able to press the button, preoccupied by holding Hera.
The sudden whoosh of the door was enough to unsteady Sabine, who was already struggling with the additional weight in her arms. She collapsed in the galley, with Hera’s limp form following.
Kanan was standing at the far end of the galley, lost in thought, searching. Perhaps he was trying to locate Hera, the two were never far from one another or that weapon he occasionally misplaced. Sabine watched as he followed the commotion, his eyes blinking in quick succession to survey reality.
“Sabine?” He was already next to her, kneeling.
“You lot alright?” Zeb poked his head out from his cabin. Sabine watched as he instantly reached for his eyes, a stinging sensation overcoming him.
It didn’t halt him from striding over to join them, a swing to his step because obviously the scenario was nothing short of entertaining.
“Mandalorian, are you trying to kill us?” Zeb grinned, looking down at her, wiping his eyes.
“I didn’t realise how strong it is. Maybe I’m used to it.” Sabine shrugged, a hitch to her voice “I’m sorry.”
”Of course you're immune to chemicals.” The Lasat offered a hand to assist her, pulling her to her feet.
“C’mere,” Kanan tucked his hands underneath Hera, lifting her into his arms. She mumbled wordlessly into his chest, her fingers curling into his tunic, even in her catatonic state Hera was able to recognise his presence.
Sabine quickly pulled her gaze away, believing it invasive.
”I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what part of the last ten minutes she was apologising for.
“Don’t worry kid, she’s not permanently damaged.” Kanan assured her. When he finished scanning Hera just in case some silent injury was staring him in the face, he glanced back at Sabine, raising a brow “Changing your hair?”
“Yeah.” Sabine clutched the towel tighter, the wetness of the dye suddenly chill.
”Why don’t you do Zeb’s as well?” Kanan smirked.
“Mine’s already purple, Kanan.” Zeb replied, then points as if to be accusatory “Aren’t you lot supposed to be perceptive?”
”Ah,” Kanan clicked his tongue, feigning defeat “Next time then.”
Kanan readjusted Hera in his arms as he walked towards his cabin, mumbling something inaudible, leaving Zeb and Sabine alone.
“I have a green dye, too.” Sabine turned to the Lasat, a hand still threaded in her damp hair.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll think I’ll stay being purple.” Zeb grinned, as if he was jesting with Kanan still. Sabine awkwardly glanced away, ready to slip quietly into the ‘fresher again, probably to face the realisation that the dried dye on her skin would be difficult to scrub now that it had stained.
“Why don’t you just put both of them in?” Zeb asked, still standing beside her.
Sabine had never met a Lasat, but she was aware of the destruction of Lasan at the Empire’s hands. She was a pupil at the academy during the time, the only chatter regarding Lasats was the rumour that they were grossly fierce and merciless in their violence. A student at the academy explained that the galaxy should be grateful for Lasan’s destruction, because the creatures populating it were so awful.
Sabine pressed her lips together “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
“If it turns out good, give me credit.” Zeb chuckled, fond of his own comment.
Sabine turned back to the ‘fresher, this time deciding to leave the door open, purely to enable air to circulate this time and not because she suddenly decided she didn’t mind the chance of visitors.
Hera pulled back to look at Kanan under the tinny, blinking light. She matches his smile and then leans in again.
It’s nothing more than caressing and kissing, because they’ve done more than that and while that is definitely an exciting activity, the four confined walls of the cubicle can witness deeper levels of intimacy that is more profound than quick, slightly uncomfortable shower sex.
They think they’re being subtle but she’s laughing too loudly, it comes from her stomach. A low, deep laugh to match her voice.
It doesn’t take much for Kanan to reach an arm around Hera to grab the lekku cleanser for the space is so small. They’re pressed together without trying, his wider legs enveloping her two thinner ones.
Hera usually turns around, allowing for him to soak and clean her lekku from behind because it’s easier. Although Kanan’s hand has a tight grip on her face, holding her to his. Eventually his hands leave her to pump the bottle of cleanser, but his mouth remains on hers. He can do it with his eyes closed now, spreading the soap over and under her lekku, soaking under the sensitive spot at the back of her neck where the lekku hang. They’re still kissing.
The first time wasn’t as painless, with Hera yelping when Kanan’s touch on her lekku was just too abrasive and clumsy. Now he’s perfected it because he’s known her, studied her form and mapped out each intricate part of her body. Thankfully, they hadn’t even recruited Zeb at that point because the shrill shout would’ve been heard clearly through the walls. Now, they attempt to be subtle.
Taking turns, she dips her head back, allowing the water to wash away the cleanser before gesturing to Kanan. She’s enjoyed him sinking to his knees on more than one occasion - one of those occasions taking place in the ‘fresher - but this is different. Still intimate, but she’s asked to soak his hair, run her fingers through and use the unusual bottled soap and lather it. Obligingly, he rests on his knees in front of her, because there’s no seat in the cubicle and he is too tall for her to reach.
Hera rubs her finger under his chin, the wetness isn’t unpleasant but creates an unusual sensation. The soap is sticking to the slight beard he has, it’s darker under the water. The hair product combined with water runs down his face. With a tug of her finger, she lifts his face up as she leans down, meeting his mouth for a sweet kiss.
The soapy mixture races down to cross Kanan’s lips, against hers. Only Hera reels back, her face scrunched up as she spits “That’s disgusting.”
“You aren’t supposed to taste it.” Kanan’s laugh thrums through her. He looks up through wet lashes, giddy and almost giggling.
“Lekku cleanser doesn’t taste like that.” She leans over him, resting her hands on either side of his face. A thumb pokes out to stroke the damp eyelashes, drawing him close but not close enough for a kiss. Kanan’s laugh stifles under the contact, he always goes still when she’s just touching and her eyes are twinkling.
“You aren’t supposed to taste that either.” He says in a mock-condescending manner, a hand sliding up her body with a chaste squeeze to her hip.
When Hera nudges him, he rises to his feet and they’re laughing again, then resume kissing once she’s wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Unbeknownst to the lovers in the ‘fresher, the wall separating the washroom from the corridor of the crews’ cabins wasn’t as soundproof as the confined cubicle.
Ezra stops short of the ‘fresher, his ears prickling. There were usually noises from the small room, like Zeb’s growl when he slipped and fell in the shower because it wouldn’t accommodate his height and frame. This time did not sound like that time.
“Is that -”
Zeb lets a slip of panic strike his face before concealing it quickly. The boy is fairly new, so it’s understandable that he may have some…questions. Then there’s a tug of a smirk pulling on the Lasat’s lips.
Still, he looks fondly at Ezra.
“Sometimes the drains pack-up, and make weird noises.” Zeb shrugs as nonchalantly as possible “We don’t usually pay attention.”
“The drains laugh?”
“The drains laugh? You feeling okay, Ezra?” Sabine appears, poking her head out from her room. The same wide-eye panic is laced in her expression, but she controls it “Why don’t you go lie down?”
“But they - they’re -”
“I’ll tell Chopper to check the plumbing. This ship’s always breaking down.” Zeb placed a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring. Maybe intimidating.
“But -“
“We just ignore…the drains.”
Sabine nods in agreement, puffing out her chest next to Zeb. He’s crossed his arms, it means no more questions. They stare at Ezra, waiting for the cogs in his brain to reel and rub together, he’ll get the gist of the situation Ghost at some point.
Together, they should appear convincing enough for this to only occur once. There’s a slither of a silent understanding in the scrawny kid’s features, his head tilts the side briefly and then he struggles to suppress a grin.
“Got it.”
The next day, Ezra stops before entering the cockpit and the kitchen and the main cargo hold. He stills and listens to make sure he isn’t interrupting anything and then continues. Once he slides down the ladder, he almost collides with Hera, turning a sheepish pink.
Kanan’s hand drifts away from her back, but he’s giving it all away but the way his body is angled towards her. Ezra thinks they’re no better than so-called subtle school sweethearts.