Work Text:
"I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep."
- Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five
--
“I’m not wearing that,” Ezra said. The fabric looked oppressive. Just thinking about putting it on made him feel claustrophobic. A New Republic military dress uniform. It wasn’t the combat kind, it was the ceremonial one. The kind that told people you were a soldier without showing them your hands covered in blood.
Hera dropped the hand that was holding the outfit out to him, sighing. “Well, you can’t wear that,” she said. “It’s been three days, Ezra, you have to at least take off the chain mail.”
He touched his chest, running his fingers along the familiar ridges of the armor he found there. He knew she was right, he couldn’t walk into any sort of political hearing wearing this, but he didn’t want to take it off, either. Hera tilted her head at him, opening her mouth to say something he knew would be a question about why he hadn’t taken off the armor he’d been wearing when he left Peridea, a question he didn’t want to answer. He interrupted her before she could, taking the outfit from her. “I’ll just—“ he pointed at the door to the refresher and disappeared into it.
The stupid dress uniform even had a commander’s plaque on it, marking him with the New Republic rank, a military he’d never actually been a part of. Hera had told him the New Republic demilitarized, but here he was, in a uniform anyways.
He was itchy, and it only had a little to do with the clothes.
He stared at himself in the mirror for longer than necessary. He’d cleaned up his beard, per Hera’s gentle request to not have him look like he spent a decade on a desolate world. He’d nicked himself, too, beneath his jaw, still used to far duller blades. He’d showered several times more than a person needed to in the past three days, just to feel hot water trickle down his back again, leaving his skin soft and warm.
But this was the first time he’d changed clothes. As much as Peridea was kind of a decade long nightmare, it was his decade long nightmare. Taking off the armor he wore for so long felt like betrayal, somehow, though he wasn’t sure of whom.
He exited the refresher with a plastered smile, nodding at Hera. “Okay, I’m ready.”
She didn’t move towards the cockpit, she moved towards him. Slowly, gently, her hand reached up to cup his cheek, and she traced a thumb across the long-faded scars under his eye. “I know you don’t want to do this.”
He let out a short breath. “What gave it away?”
She dropped her hand to his shoulder, still giving him a warm smile. He missed her. He didn’t think it had fully hit him yet, where he was, what he was doing. His mind was still so scattered, not ready to leave the familiarity of survival mode no matter how much they told him he was safe now. But he knew one thing: he’d missed Hera Syndulla.
“You are going to be just fine. You’re a hero. A galactic treasure,” she said. He rolled his eyes.
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“You’re a treasure to me.”
“Thanks, Hera.”
She tapped his cheek twice and nodded. “Come on. Let’s go.”
—
The senate HQ building on Chandrila was only slightly more humble than the other buildings around the downtown area, and Ezra automatically bristled at any display of wealth. He tugged at the collar of his uniform, which did nothing to quell his nerves. Stars, why was it so hot in here?
People looked at him and Hera as they walked towards the main chambers. He would’ve been severely underdressed if he’d been allowed to wear his other outfit, but he was not about to admit that to Hera. Instead, he noted who met his eyes, who didn’t, who had weapons, and kept an eye out for anything even slightly suspicious. There were four exits in the lobby area, the two closest blocked by crowds of senators who would be an obstacle, but ultimately easy to get by if he needed to start running.
Every part of him was screaming to bolt. He didn’t belong in government buildings. As they passed New Republic officers in their real uniforms, not like his dress up clothes, he pretended to act natural, even though he had no reason to pretend. He’d been invited. He was on the calendar and everything.
The Force felt so… different here. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly why. Sure, a binding presence whose only agreed upon definition was that it was everywhere didn’t adhere to things like space, but it felt somehow trapped here. Stuck. Pounding on the walls.
Or maybe that was just him.
If it weren’t for Hera’s Force signature that felt like home, he’d have turned around and left the second he walked in here. She reached over and squeezed his hand, like she knew he was seconds away from running, and pulled him off to the side, near a large window. Even being able to see outside helped a little. It was also a viable exit, especially since it was ground level and he didn’t think the seals were lightsaber-proof. “Our meeting’s not for another ten minutes, and the one before us might go late. You wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” he asked. Hera just looked at him, patiently. “The uniform is itchy.”
“Uh huh.”
Ezra let out a long breath. Fine. “Look, the only government building I’ve ever been in was a holding cell,” he said. “I’m not entirely convinced I’m not secretly here to be on trial for treason or terrorism or whatever.”
He tried to keep his voice light, and Hera’s tight smile told him he hadn’t quite managed to. “You don’t trust the New Republic.”
He did not. Not even one little bit.
“I trust you,” he offered. “And you’ve told me it’s fine. So it’s fine.”
“I understand,” she said. “It’s their job to convince you they’re better than the Empire. That’s how governments are supposed to work. If they don’t, well… I trust you, too.”
Maybe he didn’t deserve that. He left Sabine on a distant planet. He broke their family apart in so many different ways. He didn’t trust himself not to shatter into a million pieces. But Hera looked at him and she trusted him. Even after all this time. Even though he was all sorts of wrong.
“They’re gonna tell us no, aren’t they?”
Hera sighed. “I don’t think anyone wants to believe there’s still a threat out there. The New Republic is demilitarized, there’s not going to be the resources we’re used to.”
Ezra blinked. “I’m used to no resources. We get resources?”
Hera laughed at that, nodding. “I don’t know, Ezra. But there are people who will believe us. And sometimes that’s enough.”
It would have to be. Ezra took a deep breath, and let Hera lead the way to the chamber.
—
“I’m sorry, Commander Bridger, but your word is not enough to justify sending a fleet to Dathomir, or attempting to go back to your… other galaxy.”
Senator Xiono had the scowl of a much more intimidating man. It didn’t fit his face. Was Ezra supposed to be crushed by this revelation? By their lack of support? He looked at Ezra like he was dirt on his shoe, but Ezra had been looked at that way for most of his life. The Senate didn’t like him? Fine. It wasn’t like he wanted to be here anyways.
(Something here was making his skin crawl in ways he couldn’t remember how to put his finger on, but it was wrong, it was all wrong—)
“I stole a shuttle from the Chimaera. Thrawn is here and he has an army,” said Ezra.
“Of undead stormtroopers, helped by… witches,” Xiono said, skepticism dripping out of his voice. Ezra resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Trying to explain the Force and its capabilities to someone who refused to believe it even existed was entirely pointless.
But Xiono wasn’t the only one who didn’t believe him, who couldn’t fathom threats beyond these curved and protective walls. He wondered what they’d all been doing while the Empire carved out his home, bit by bit, piece by piece, until there was only one thing left to do to save it.
Ezra hadn’t wanted to be in this room to begin with, and it had gone pretty much exactly how he expected. It didn’t change the way he felt, the itch in his bones, the lingering sense of wrongness that somehow seemed to cloud the Force itself. There was darkness out there, and in this room.
He told himself the darkness he felt, the constant unease and doubt was just his own fears, manifesting in the Force. Thrawn was the threat here, and that’s why it felt like this. He was still in survival mode, had been for so long that he’d forgotten how not to be, and he was imagining things, inventing darkness that wasn’t there. It was just the stress and the guilt, overflowing out of him.
“Yes,” he answered. “I have seen them. Are you suggesting I’m lying?”
“Of course not. But prolonged isolation can have… negative effects on the human mind.”
Ezra felt that one almost like a physical blow, and reacted as if it was, stepping backwards, caught only by Hera’s grip on his wrist.
Not only did they not believe him, they thought he was crazy. So what was the point of even coming here? He suddenly felt very watched, like every person in the room could see how broken he actually was, could see through everything he’d worked so hard to keep hidden. He’d never felt more exposed.
Hera was talking, but Ezra wasn’t exactly listening. He stared out the window, letting pain turn to anger, just to have something to focus on that wasn’t bone-deep dread. Something that felt closer to the warmth of hope than the cold of despair, even though the anger burned.
“Commander Bridger? Are you even listening?”
Ezra tore his eyes from the sky cars and speeders outside, whipping his head to glare at Xiono. Xiono tried to glare back but it was clear that he wasn’t expecting the full force of Ezra’s anger like this. “No,” he said, simply. “You didn’t listen to me, I don’t think I’ll return the favor.”
Xiono sighed. “I am trying to help you, Commander—“
“Then you’ll send whatever General Syndulla needs to take down Thrawn instead of being a jealous, whiny, self-serving asshole just because you were outsmarted by her. If you can’t, then I don’t see a point in continuing this conversation.”
The pearl-clutching offended expression on at least 4 of the council members’ faces was extremely satisfying, Xiono’s most of all. “Commander Bridger, please refrain from using that kind of language in this chamber.”
“I will refrain from calling you an asshole when you stop being an asshole and do your actual fucking job.”
“Ezra,” Hera warned, but he could hear the smile she was hiding.
Ezra opened his mouth to say something even more offensive and inappropriate, but Mon Mothma interrupted him. “We can authorize a small squadron for reconnaissance around Dathomir. Bring proof, and we will go from there.”
He knew it would be like this, but that didn’t make it suck any less. “You don’t believe me either.”
Mon Mothma folded her hands on the table in front of him, meeting Ezra’s eyes. “I believe you, Commander Bridger,” she said. “However, this is not the Empire. I do not have utter and complete power to order military operations without Senate oversight. I am not the only person you have to convince.”
She looked pointedly at Xiono, who wasn’t even paying attention anymore, his nose buried in his datapad, already moving onto the next thing.
Ezra dug his nails into his palms and nodded. He hated this stupid place anyways.
It didn’t help that Xiono calling him crazy tugged at Ezra’s own insecurities. He’d been alone a long time. The Force on Peridea felt like dark magic and terrors, and he lived in it for almost a decade. There had been nights when he forgot himself, forgot what he was fighting for, forgot his family. Every time a purrgil came to Peridea to die, he felt it, and there was so little life on that planet to balance him. It weighed on him. He didn’t always trust his own mind. Nevermind that there was something wrong with the Force, so hidden and so secretive that it was like the Force itself didn’t realize anything amiss. A singular cloud blocking out just a sliver of moonlight. It couldn’t be real, so Ezra wouldn’t voice it. Maybe he was crazy, after all.
He wanted out of these clothes.
He didn’t speak as they walked back towards the Ghost. He didn’t know what would come out of his mouth if he tried. Probably nothing. Hera tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it only made him so much more aware of the tight fabric wrapped around him. He brushed her off, and made as quickly as possible out of that awful place.
Just the air of the Ghost cleared his mind. The Force felt better here, even if his connection was still a little wary. He reached out to it, watching the grassland flow in the breeze, stars and moons overhead.
He ripped the uniform off as soon as he could, changing into a set of pajamas Hera had laid out for him. He was pretty sure they were Kanan’s, which was a comfort in and of itself. He threw the uniform in a crumpled pile in the corner, and grabbed a blanket to wrap himself in, making his way to the living area and plopping himself down on the couch.
Hera found him there, sitting with a gap in between them. He knew she was putting that distance between them on purpose, based on how he reacted at the Senate building, so he opened his arm, inviting her to join him inside the blanket. She smiled, and obliged.
For a long moment, they were silent. Ezra had calmed down, but everything still felt so heavy. He didn’t know how to make it any lighter. He felt like he’d been trying for so long to make it lighter, and it hadn’t worked.
“I’m sorry I called Xiono an asshole.”
Hera snorted. “No you’re not.”
“No I’m not.”
“He is an asshole. And a coward. And all the other things you said.”
“He really is.”
Hera reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “You did good today.”
“It didn’t feel like we did anything.”
She chuckled. “You’ve done enough for this galaxy, Ezra, you can afford to be slowed down by some stupid Senators. In fact, I’m encouraging it if it means you can get a good night’s sleep.”
But Ezra couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes it was a different horror. The nightsisters' magic seeping darkness into his veins, hyperspace routes ending with an asteroid field of dead purrgil, bandit raids he couldn’t save the Noti from, or Thrawn and his army, winning, the Empire back in power, destroying anything and everything he ever loved—
“Ezra,” Hera breathed, her voice a gentle breeze near his ear, her hand over his, squeezing his fingers in time with a song he couldn’t hear. He shuddered as he tried to expel images from his mind, things he couldn’t tell if they were memories or nightmares, but they felt like daggers either way. His voice caught on what might’ve been a scream or it might’ve been in his own head.
Her arm was around his shoulder now, her head rested gently against his, her lekku dangling over his shoulder. He focused on her heartbeat, her endless warmth, pulling himself together. He didn’t know how long he sat there in her arms, waiting for the storm inside him to pass. He hadn’t meant for her to see it, this part of him that wasn’t right anymore. This part of him that had abandoned Hera’s and Kanan’s teachings, that had let them down again and again. He hadn’t wanted her to know he wasn’t the same nineteen year old that left.
Her thumb brushed along his cheek, under his eye, wiping away the tear that had fallen. “I’m—“ he started, but she shook her head, interrupting him.
“If the next word out of your mouth is sorry, I will not hear it,” she said. “You can’t fix the whole galaxy, so stop expecting yourself to. You don’t get to do any more heroic, purrgil sacrifices. All that’s left is just good, old-fashioned bullshit. Politics. The Empire. You and me. We do what we can, but this galaxy is so much bigger than you are, and you are not responsible for all of it. All you have to do right now is exist, Ezra. That’s the only expectation.“
She smiled, and he found it easier to match. “It’s… kinda hard to do that, sometimes.”
She nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to exist alone.”
Ezra fell into her embrace, feeling slightly more real than he had in a long time. Hera didn’t care that he was broken, she didn’t care that he was wrong. She’d probably go so far as to say he wasn’t either of those things, something they’d probably have to agree to disagree on at this point. But he craved the sentiment anyways, and it felt more true right now than it did thirty seconds ago.
It didn’t fix everything. One night of comfort, even from someone as magic as Hera Syndulla, couldn’t fix everything burrowed deep in Ezra’s psyche, nor could it fix the very real problems they were facing in the galaxy. But for tonight, as he bid her good night for the evening, it was enough. He was lulled to sleep by the familiar hum of the Ghost’s engines, and was reminded what it felt like to be home.