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Sabine hadn’t been feeling like herself for the last two months. Her joints and muscles ached all the time, no matter how she tried soothing them, and headaches stabbed her temples whenever she focused on something for too long.
All of this wasn’t new; Sabine had struggled with premenstrual side effects ever since starting her moon cycles at age twelve. How much pain women endured every month was just something else the Empire lied about, yet another thing Countess Wren wouldn’t tolerate.
When was the last time I went this long without bleeding?
She surveyed her half-finished work–a mural of Lothal during sunset, positioned right at their common room’s entrance–and decided she was finished for now. The paint needed time to dry anyway, plus she wanted to catch Hera before they started on ship maintenance.
Hera was poring over their latest intel when Sabine knocked, but the Twi’lek’s laser-focused expression softened once catching sight of her.
“Are you alright, kiddo?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
Sabine hesitated, unsure how she should broach the topic. Moon cycles were normal for every female–Hera taught her how to deal with them when she’d come aboard the Ghost–but Sabine’s past didn’t give her much experience with opening up about anything.
“Um, is it normal to go almost two months without bleeding but still experience all the other symptoms of a moon cycle?”
“It’s different for my species, but I think human females’ average cycle length is around thirty-five days at maximum. Two months would be almost seventy.”
“Does that mean something’s wrong with me?”
Hera gave her a reassuring smile.
“Here’s what we’ll do; you let me know if anything changes as we fix up the Ghost. The boys and Chopper are taking the Phantom off-world to get Phoenix Squadron updated weapons for our armory.”
Hera didn’t elaborate, but her face said it all: We’ll get much-needed quiet.
Sabine loved her found family, but she couldn’t deny that having so many different personalities aboard one ship brought its fair share of challenges.
Boys were difficult no matter the species.
No sooner had she thought that when another knock sounded on Hera’s door and Ezra peeked inside.
“Uh, Sabine? I kind of messed up the-”
Ignoring Ezra’s attempts at stuttering explanations, Sabine shoved past him into the common room, hoping against hope that his sheepish ‘please don’t bite my head off’ look didn’t come from what she knew he’d done.
No such luck.
“What the fuck, Ezra Bridger?” Her shout could have roused the dead, but to Ezra’s credit, he accepted his fate. “What have I said about touching unfinished paintings?”
“I know, but I wanted to see how you-”
“I don’t care what you wanted to know! Ask me or admire from a distance–otherwise this happens! When will you remember that?”
“It was an accident!”
Sabine had another scathing remark ready (what if she dismantled his lightsaber’s power cell “by accident”) when Hera shoved herself between them.
“Whoa, who got hurt?”
“No one!” both teenagers insisted.
Hera looked at the affronted painting, surveying her two youngest Spectres for a long moment. Sabine could see her putting the pieces together.
“Ezra, go prepare for your mission.”
“What? Yell at Sabine! She shouldn’t be painting out here.”
The stern look in Hera’s eyes silenced him. Sabine watched Ezra bolt down the corridor, her temper already cooling.
What happened to me? I normally wouldn’t be bothered by that.
Hera put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll talk with Ezra when they get back–besides, I’m sure Kanan will give him an earful. Let’s go see what needs fixing.”
Hera made everyone leave right when the Phantom was prepped, but not before Chopper interrogated Sabine about the painting debacle. He’d cursed like an Outer Rim smuggler when she wouldn’t give him leverage against Ezra, and only Hera’s order to stop poking his circuits in other people’s business had kept Sabine from kicking that damned droid.
She couldn’t take much more of people’s antics, droid or otherwise.
Repairs were almost a welcome distraction.
She crouched in the Ghost’s main repair duct now, rejoining wires and bolting hatches shut. Above her, Hera ran a diagnostic, the panel beeping frequent updates. Life support systems sustained significant damage from their last couple of missions, hence the Phantom’s usage. Hera’s spectres escaped unscathed nine times out of ten, but she wouldn’t risk sending her crew on a mission without medical supplies.
“I’m sorry about earlier.” Sabine’s voice was loud in the unfamiliar quiet. “I don’t know why I screamed at Ezra like that.”
To her surprise, Hera laughed. The sound warmed Sabine. Hera even smiled slower these days–commanding Phoenix Squadron’s fast-expanding rebel cell was an exhausting undertaking for anyone.
She would never know how Hera managed a crew and family on top of that.
“I know you didn’t mean what you said. It was no one’s fault, but I don’t think men will ever understand how this time of the month can make us feel. Once Kanan made me a cake for my birthday and I sobbed because I saw it baking in the oven.”
It was Sabine’s turn to laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I guess the bubbles were creepy. But Sabine? Promise you’ll be very careful when painting in the common room. I don’t want any extra messes.”
“Yes, Hera.”
Another comfortable silence descended. They hadn’t been alone on the Ghost for a while, but Sabine was always grateful to spend some time with her surrogate mother. It wasn’t only that Hera trusted her with the Ghost’s inner workings; she never held anything against Sabine when her emotions ran high or she wasn’t feeling well.
When she’d gotten the flu a few rotations back, Hera stayed behind and took care of her.
Buckling under the weight of others’ expectations–well-meaning or otherwise–was something Sabine did for far too long. She’d trained under debilitating pain and sickness at the Imperial Academy and Krownest more times than she could count, ignoring her body’s needs because of it.
No one cared; why should she?
People care about you now, Sabine. Long after defecting from the Empire and her sad, lonely life on the run, she still reminded herself of that.
Shaking away the veil of her thoughts, Sabine focused on purging the life support systems when she felt a strange dampness.
“Did a coolant pipe rupture? It feels wet down here.”
“Hmm…the diagnostic's not showing anything. We’ll reset this entire system as a precaution, but if nothing’s wrong we can start on some other repairs-”
Sudden pain tore across her abdomen and lower back, pain so severe Sabine almost collapsed from the sheer force of it. She knew what she’d see even before looking down–blood soaked the fabric of her pants, clinging to her skin like sticky humid air.
“Forget about resetting the system, Hera. I’m bleeding.”
Taking Hera’s proffered hand, Sabine pulled herself out of the access duct. She could walk on her own this time around, a small mercy, but her entire body shook with the effort of remaining upright.
“Get cleaned up in the refresher and meet me in your room after. I’ll handle everything out here.”
Sabine clenched her fists in frustration. Their repairs were too extensive; what was she doing holding everything up? Hera needed her help if they were going to fix the Ghost before everyone returned.
“What about-”
“Sabine.” Hera’s voice was soft yet firm–the kind of tone not even Kanan argued with. She sighed, swallowing any further protests, and went to obey Hera’s order.
Upon opening the refresher door, Sabine saw Hera had left fresh clothes–folded in a neat pile–along with some spare pads. She dressed with some difficulty; hot water had helped somewhat, but bending over still took far more effort than normal.
She opened her cabin door, where Hera was waiting with painkillers, water, and a heating pad. Sabine wrapped the heating pad around her abdomen and took the offered medicine before speaking again.
“I’m sorry about the ship, Hera.” Despite herself, tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I know you need my help. What are we going to do-”
“Whoa, kiddo. Easy. I’ll worry about the ship, but I don’t think that’s the entire reason you’re upset.”
The Twi’lek’s inquisitiveness no longer surprised Sabine–Hera could always read her like a holonovel. She trusted Hera with her life, and that simple fact made Sabine feel the sheer weight of the words she’d repressed for years.
Tugging against her heart, begging for release.
“My mother made me train when I could barely walk. I was sparring with the heir of another house and she pinned me down. Punched me in the abdomen. I don’t remember blacking out, but I remember how Mother dragged me out of there.”
Sabine swallowed, forcing down the tears that threatened.
“She screamed at me that Imperial cadets didn’t show weakness and I would do well to remember it. Pain may be trivial in Mandalorian culture, but that doesn’t mean I agree with everything my clan does.”
“Oh, honey. I may be a rebel leader, but you and the rest of my family will always be the most important thing. I want you telling me if you’re in pain, because you’re not alone anymore. You never will be–not as long as I’m here.”
Sabine didn’t try stopping her tears this time. There was so much she wanted to say to the woman who’d shaped her heart, but another wave of cramps made her double over in pain. Fuck, why did everything hurt this much?
Mental note: thank Hera when I don’t feel like my insides are getting ripped open.
Sabine curled against Hera’s side, knees pressed against her chest, once the cramp-induced spasms passed. The Twi’lek started singing in Ryl, and although Sabine didn’t understand the words, their gentle warmth covered her like a blanket.
Sabine didn’t know if it was Hera’s care or the medicine was kicking in, but her pain receded–replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. She rested her head on Hera’s shoulder, listening to her surrogate mother’s soft voice, and let herself fall asleep.