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Ezra sat on the edge of the crate, kicking his heels against the plasteel surface. It made a satisfying clunking sound, which provided two distinct benefits. First, he enjoyed creating little beats and patterns in the sound, first faster, then slower, the arrangement ever shifting.
Second, it was annoying the living daylights out of Zeb.
"Ezra, if you don't stop moving your feet like you're running the Boonta Eve classic, I'm gonna rip your legs off."
The Lasat leaned with his back against the wall of the cargo hold, ears twitching in irritation. Beside him, Kanan rested his elbows on a double-stack of crates, tapping away at a datapad. He typed in a few words, then paused. Brows furrowing, he glanced up at Zeb. "How tall are you?"
"2.1 meters," the Lasat grunted. "Why?"
"Commander Sato got in touch with a slicer who says he can forge us some imperial IDs. I'm sending him the information for them." He straightened, tucking the datapad under his arm. With his free hand, he measured from the top of his head to Zeb's burly arm.
Zeb stared at him. "Are you trying to figure out how tall you are?"
Kanan jerked back as his companion swatted at him. "It's been a long time since I measured, okay?"
"Well, it doesn't have to be exact, does it?"
"Hera said the more accurate, the better. If someone check our IDs and the information on them is obviously wrong, that'll raise suspicion."
Zeb growled. "Just say 1.9 meters and get on with it."
Kanan frowned. "I'm taller than that!"
"Not from where I'm standing."
Huffily, the Jedi returned to his work. Ezra punctuated the next few minutes with some particularly well-timed crate kicks. Finally, he hopped down and moved to peer over Kanan's shoulder. "Isn't this the sort of thing Hera usually does?"
"Usually, yes," Kanan muttered without looking up. "But she's in meetings with Commander Sato and Ahsoka for the next several days, so it’s my job instead." He paused. "How old am I?"
"Maaaaybe we should wait until she gets back, then," Ezra ventured. "I bet she knows all this stuff."
"No," Kanan snapped, shooting him a glare. "I can do it." He typed a few more lines, and triumphantly rapped his knuckles on the top of the datapad. "There, see? No problem. Now I just have to do you, Ezra, and we're done."
Zeb groaned, knocking the back of his head against the wall. "This is taking forever."
"I'm done with yours," Kanan retorted. "If you like, you're welcome to go help Sabine and Chopper with the deep-clean of the refresher. I think they still had a few hours of work left, so I'm sure they'd appreciate it."
Muttering to himself, Zeb slouched back against the wall.
Ezra folded his arms. Catching the Lasat's gaze, he cocked an eyebrow at Kanan. "Someone's grumpy today."
"I heard that." Kanan didn't look up from the datapad. "What color are your eyes?"
"Seriously? I've been a part of this crew for how long, and you still don't know – "
"What. Color."
He sighed. "Blue."
"Thank you. Hair color?"
"Really?"
"Really."
Ezra rolled his eyes. "Also blue." He heard the tap of fingers against the datapad stop, and Kanan looked back at him. The padawan frowned. "What?"
"Say that again?"
The boy frowned. "My hair is blue."
"It's not black?"
"No. Seriously, Kanan, are you color blind?"
"You're sure?"
Zeb grabbed the tablet from Kanan. "We can all see it's blue, Kanan. What, you never looked at his hair before?"
The Jedi didn't resist as the datapad was forcibly removed from his possession. His gaze lingered on Ezra, full of curiosity. "No, I – it's just, human hair doesn't typically come in blue."
Zeb, claw hovering over the keyboard, stopped. "It doesn't?"
Ezra took an uncertain back, uncomfortable with the sudden attention he was receiving. "It's from my mom's side of the family. It's not a big deal."
Kanan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Reaching up, he pried the datapad away from Zeb and bent back over the crate to resume his work.
The Lasat, huffing a bored sigh, eventually wandered over to stand next to Ezra. He cupped his hand over his mouth, and said in an over-exaggerated whisper, "He put his own height as two meters. Even an imperial could see through that."
Ezra chuckled. Kanan shot them an icy glare through his eyebrows, but the deft movement of his fingers didn't slow. After a few more minutes, he straightened, smacking the datapad against the crate so hard it rattled, and a wrench that had been resting on it clattered to the floor. "Finished. No thanks to you two."
"Happy to help," Zeb sniped. "Now are we done here?"
Kanan waved him off. "Go."
The Lasat needed no further encouragement, swinging himself onto the ladder and up into the main body of the Ghost. Ezra scooped the displaced wrench off the floor. Kanan had already paced to the back of the cargo bay, datapad still in hand. The padawan carefully placed the tool back on the crate. He hesitated, then moved to follow him.
Kanan was running a hand over his hair, eyebrows furrowed. As he got closer, Ezra could see that although the Jedi's gaze was fixed on the datapad, his eyes weren't moving. Ezra cleared his throat. The man whirled, nearly dropping the device. "Agh! What is it?"
Ezra shrugged uncertainly. "Nothing. You just seem… on edge, is all."
Kanan sighed. He ran his hand over his face, and down his long, hawkish nose. But when he looked up at Ezra, his expression had softened somewhat. "I'm sorry, Ezra. It's not you. I'm just in a bad mood today."
"Hera will be back soon," the boy offered.
Kanan waved a hand. "It's not that. Well," he amended, "it might be a little bit that, but…" He sighed again, and the rest of his anger melted away. With a suddenness that nearly knocked him off-balance, Ezra felt a wave of sadness wash through the Force. It took him a moment to remember what his master had told him about using the energy field to shield your emotions, and how a Jedi could learn to raise and lower those barriers. "I found a recording on the holocron. Of Master Luminara."
"Oh." It had been some time since they'd found the mummified corpse of the former Jedi Master, but Ezra could still remember the look on his own master's face when they'd seen her. How the hope the news of her captivity had brought had suddenly been stripped away. Whatever he'd been expecting Kanan to say, it wasn't that. "I'm sorry."
Kanan seated himself on a nearby crate. "It wasn't much. Just some lightsaber drills. But seeing her again like that..." He sighed. "I don't know. It seems like such a waste."
Uncertainly, Ezra clambered up onto the crate next to him. "You said she was a great Jedi Master, right?"
The older man nodded. "I only interacted with her a handful of times, but I knew her reputation. She was calm, and kind, and brilliant. One of the order's best."
"She accomplished a lot," Ezra remarked.
Kanan huffed a humorless laugh. "I'm sure she did."
"No. I mean, I know she did." Ezra tapped his chin. "Her tattoos here talk about important things she did. It seems like she helped a lot of people."
Kanan swiveled his head to stare at Ezra, brows furrowing. "How do you know that?"
He shrugged. "My mom told me about them. My grandpa was from Mirial," he added, rubbing the back of his neck. "She told me about a lot of their customs."
"I see." Kanan stared down at his hands, clasped in his lap. "…How much can you tell?"
Ezra frowned, trying to recall the exact patterns he'd seen, and the details of his mother's lessons.
"Well, she healed a lot. And fought some hard battles. She was an advisor to a lot of people." He shrugged. "That's all I remember. I'm sure someone from Mirial could tell you more, but–"
Kanan's hand closed over his knee. "Please stop kicking that crate." Ezra, who hadn't even realized he'd been doing it, stopped abruptly. After a moment, his master relaxed his grip. "Thank you. That… helps."
Ezra thought back to his mother, sitting in the chair at home with him curled in her lap, explaining the traditions and intricacies of her father's people. He thought about his father, pretending to read on the other couch, smiling through his mustache and sneaking glances at the two of them when he thought she wasn't looking. He swiped his sleeve across his face. "Someone who helped people like that – even if they died – that wouldn't be a waste, right?"
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. "No," Kanan admitted. "You're right. Helping people, protecting people – even dying doing it – I don't think that could ever be a waste." He hoisted himself from the crate. "Come on."
Ezra followed suit. "What are we doing?"
Kanan smiled at him. "We need to find a better hiding place. Once Sabine figures out we've finished and haven't come to help her with the cleaning, she'll be furious. If we're smart, she might catch Zeb first."
Ezra grinned. "Right behind you."