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Zeb hadn't known what to think of Ezra when she had first joined the crew. The kid was sarcasm wrapped in sharp edges and ragged clothing. She pushed every perceived boundary, ate like a feral Loth-cat and rode Chopper like her own personal vehicle. She was wild. She was bold. She was brave.
In short, a true rebel.
Zeb had regretted leaving her behind that first mission. The image of Kallus holding her back, her young face scrunched into hurt betrayal would always be ingrained in his memory. She was a brat, but she hadn't deserved that fate, no matter what he had tried to tell himself. He never felt like he could atone for his decision. Which is partly why he had volunteered to be her bunk mate.
It had surprised the rest of the crew. But logically, it also made the most sense. Hera didn't have the space in her room and Sabine refused to share hers. Unlike the others, he had come from a culture where entire families slept close, both male and female. And considering how much Ezra had fought to bunk with Kanan instead, she had little concern for gender preferences either.
"You don't have to do this," Kanan had quietly told Zeb later. He had been cooking a hot meal while Hera showed their latest recruit how the refresher worked. With how small Ezra was, the kid needed the extra nutrients. "I can take her." The knife thunked against the cutting board.
"I grew up with siblings." The lasat grunted, crossing his burly arms. Kanan was a private man. It had been one of the first things Zeb had learned when he came aboard, injured and recuperating from the Lasan Massacre. Last thing the Jedi needed was a nosy little kid in his space. "I got 'er. We'll survive."
And impossibly, the thief and survivor made it work. Ezra's helmets now lined the room's shelves, and a privacy screen was placed in the corner for changing clothes (Zeb wasn't THAT relaxed. Some things needed to stay private). Their arguments turned into gentle banter, and the rare silence companionable.
The scrappy Loth-rat turned into the intelligent, street-wise girl who met Zeb's quips with her own quick wit. She reminded him of his youngest sister, but in every good way. It was no wonder that Zeb watched over the girl. She was more than a crew member. She was his family, his youngest sidekick.
Any threat against Ezra Bridger was a threat to Garazeb Orrelios.
..
"That was the best night ever," Ezra yawned loudly. Her temple thumped against Kanan's bicep. Her blue skirt threatened to trip her as she stumbled. Following behind, Zeb rolled his eyes. It was going to be one of those nights. The kid acted like a drunk once she got sleepy enough. And it somehow always became Zeb's problem.
"Good." Kanan brushed back dark tangled strands. "For the record, you still haven't told me who insulted you."
Zeb's ears twitched. Did he hear that right?
Ezra punched Kanan's arm, then lost her balance. She leaned forward, and the Jedi grabbed her arm before she tumbled into a sleepy heap on the ground. "I think it's past someone's bedtime."
"I'm 'wake." Ezra mumbled sleepily.
Zeb couldn't help his snort. "Sure you are, kid. Most alert rebel in this sector."
Ezra didn't respond to his sarcasm, instead spending the rest of the walk humming between half-asleep giggles. Once they reached the Ghost, it became an issue trying to figure out how to get the girl upstairs. Even exhausted, Ezra insisted on her independence. In the end, she allowed Kanan to help her from above, while Zeb stayed underneath, arms outstretched in case she fell.
Once they reached the hallway connecting the bunk room, Ezra, dozing on her feet, was carefully switched to Zeb's arms. Kanan's eyebrows were furrowed, the way he did when he was concerned, but didn't want to show it.
"I got 'er." Zeb said. Inwardly, he was growing worried. Few had the patience for the girl's sleepy lunacy. Kanan was normally willing to hand Ezra over for a break when bedtime came. What had happened tonight?
"I know." Kanan knelt to catch Ezra's drooping eyes. He leaned forward, like he was going to kiss on her forehead. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled away. He squeezed her shoulder instead. "Good night, padawan."
Zeb's canines bit into his tongue. There would be time for questions later. For now, he pushed Ezra into their shared quarters. "C'mon kid, that dress can't be comfortable for sleepin'."
Once Ezra shuffled behind the privacy screen, he tossed her nightclothes overhead. She squawked a slurred protest about not dropping things on her head. She emerged shortly after in her stained pajamas, her headband still glittery among frizzy locks.
She clambered up the ladder, and flopped into her mattress. She mumbled something delirious about tookas and softness into the pillow.
"Just sleep, ya little Loth-Rat." Zeb knelt to gather his own nightclothes from the bottom drawer, relieved that she hadn't fought him for once each step of the way. Her answer was so soft, he almost didn't hear her.
"Ain't a Loth-Rat, Jisson. Kanan said....pretty. Not ugly bantha."
Zeb froze. The kid's most honest time was her exhausted, half-asleep moments, when the filter between her mouth and feelings was nonexistent. Which meant that, last least according to Ezra's perspective, whatever she said was truth.
"He called you what, kid?" Zeb rose. Ezra was already asleep, mouth open in a snore that she always denied when awake. There was a smudge of green on her temple, like she had missed a spot scrubbing off her makeup. Her headband was tilted across her forehead.
Weeks of cleaning up, taming her hair, wearing lipstick. Zeb had assumed it had just been just an teen phase. But what if.....?
He gently hooked the headband off the dark hair, and pulled the blanket over her shoulders--an sentiment he would never admit to when she wasn't awake. When she didn't stir, he turned toward his door.
Kanan opened his own door at Zeb's harsh knock, shirtless and changed into sleep pants. His hair had been taken down, and hung in soft waves across bare shoulders. He quirked an eyebrow. "What did she do.....?"
Zeb's claws curled into the doorframe. "Tell me," he growled, "What that kriffing bantha herder said to the kid?"
"She told you who it was?" Kanan's eyes flicked between Zeb and the closed door that Ezra slept behind. He lowered his voice. "Let's grab a drink. I have a feeling we'll need something strong for this conversation."
..
Kanan filled him in on what happened earlier in the evening--Ezra hiding in the cockpit, how she all but admitted that someone insulted her, but refused to tell Kanan who. Anger-hotter than the alcohol, burned in Zeb's chest.
"What're ya gonna do about it?" Zeb demanded as Kanan finished his explanation. The galley was hauntingly quiet, probably because the kids weren't awake to disrupt it.
"I've already told Hera what happened." Kanan rubbed his face, then sipped at his tea--because he rarely indulged in anything stronger. "She told me she would take it up to Command, but that even if Ezra told us who it was, there wasn't much they could do."
"hurt....he kriffin' insulted her!" Zeb slammed a fist on the table. Kanan shushed him with a finger to his lips, and glanced toward their quarters, probably checking on Ezra through the force-bond...thingy. She must still have been asleep, because his shoulders relaxed.
"I know big guy. But a few cruel words aren't considered a big deal when pilots are in such huge demand." The sarcasm in his voice made his thoughts plain. "But Hera said she'll address it herself if needed. You actually saved Ezra from a through interrogation tomorrow." The joke fell on deaf ears. Softer, Kanan said, "He's not getting away with it, I promise."
"How about I get him acquainted with me?" Zeb clutched his mug.
"Zeb...."
"C'mon Kanan. I ain't actually gonna hurt him. Just...reminding him what happens when you mess with us." Zeb smirked. "C'mon, join me."
Kanan was tempted. Zeb could see how his hands tightened around his mug, the mouth set in a hard line. Then Kanan's elbow grazed a power coupling and his gaze flickered down.
Ezra's latest tinkering session was scattered across the table, pieces and scraps considered worthless to anyone except the resourceful street kid used to having nothing. That infuriating Jedi calm filled his eyes.
"I think she needs me more." Kanan took a long swig of his drink like it was alcohol, and not Hera's favorite tea blend. He swallowed. "Tomorrow I'll take her for a training session by that river the scouts found."
"You mean let her find even more rocks to clutter my room with." Zeb huffed. Ezra may have collected helmets, but there was a box of trinkets underneath the bunk for good reason.
Kanan shrugged. "Hey, connecting with nature's a good thing for a Jedi." He hesitated. "I know I can't stop you. Just....don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Hey, when have I ever caused too much trouble?" Zeb held up a claw when Kanan's lips parted. "Don't answer that."
....
Zeb leaned near the fuel lines, arms crossed. Despite his bulk, he knew how to stay hidden using the shadows. Jisson would come by here eventually for ship supplies.
Eventually, blonde-hair bobbed into view. Jisson was laughing with another pilot. His usual smirk faltered when he saw Zeb, but recovered quickly. "How goes it, lasa...?" His voice died as Zeb lifted himself from the wall.
"You and me are due for a talk," Zeb growled, flexing his claws.
The second pilot, sensing the tension, scattered. Only the grip digging into Jisson's shoulders kept him from following. Zeb relished the squeak of alarm as he drug Jisson behind a stack of crates, and dropped him.
Jisson fell on his rear, with a yelp and scrambled backwards on his hands. "I didn't do anything, I swear!"
"But you did do something," Zeb growled, rising to his full height over the now-trembling pilot. "To my crewmate."
Recognition dawned in Jisson's face, and Zeb's miniscule doubt that the pilot wasn't the culprit faded away. "Wait, we were just talking...."
"Just like we're talking now?" Zeb cracked his knuckles. He took grim satisfaction at Jisson's expression as he curled away.
"It was just a little teasing," Jisson rambled nervously. "She took it wrong. You know how girls just can't take a joke...."
Zeb didn't let him finish. He hauled Jisson up by his collar, and pressed him against the wall. A bit dramatic, but the terror in Jisson's eyes made it worth it.
"Let me make one thing clear," Zeb's spittle decorated Jisson's cheek. "That 'girl' is part of my crew. You look at her wrong, you say one blasted word, and you'll have personal experience as to why I was on the lasat honor guard."
Jisson trembled underneath him. Zeb dropped him, almost disgusted. Jisson may be a talented, courageous pilot in space, but a coward when confronted with the consequences of his own actions. "Tell anyone about his, and I'll make sure there's not enough left to bury."
With the final ominous warning, Zeb stepped aside, and Jisson fled. Zeb didn't watch him leave. Some rats just weren't worth spending time on.
...
"Look at this one!" Ezra held up another smooth river rock up just as Zeb entered. "Oh, hi Zeb!"
Zeb grunted in response, wrinkling his nose at the paint odor as he took in the sight before him; a tarp spread across the galley floor, Sabine sitting crossed-legged, and Ezra laying on her stomach, her feet kicking in the air. Their hands were stained different colors, brushes and paint pallets scattered around them.
"Very pretty love." Hera sipped her cafe. She held a rock in her other hand; dotted with a rainbow of colors that were too inexperienced to be Sabine's work. The look she gave Zeb told him that she had heard about the confrontation earlier, and planned on scolding him once Ezra wasn't in the vicinity. Zeb didn't regret his choice. No one messed with his little family.
Kanan leaned back in the seat next to her, eyes closed. A rock, painted green and yellow zigzags, was perched on his shoulder like a kowakian monkey.
"Oh, that would be the perfect surface for a portrait." Sabine prodded the rock Ezra was holding up.
"Take it, there's tons." Ezra sat up as Zeb dropped into his usual seat. She selected a rock from her collection. She ducked her head, her hair hiding her face as she pushed the stone into his hand. "This is for you, furball."
That was Ezra's love language, they had learned once she started letting her guard down with them: giving gifts, little scavenged treasures. Many of them would be deemed worthless by those who didn't understand the inner workings of a street kid who found value hiding in dumpsters.
The stone was still warm, painted purple and dotted with yellow. Zeb's claws curled around it as something warmed his chest. "Thanks kid." Before he could get too sentimental, he added, "this'll be perfect for wakin' you up when you snore."
"I do not!" Ezra wrinkled her nose, and Sabine snorted.
"Keep telling yourself that, kid."