A/N: Wrote this on a plane over the weekend and didn't pour a lot of time into editing and over-thinking. It's a little rough around the edges, but I hope you enjoy.

Specialty

"Aren't you worried about gaining weight?" Ezra blurted before he could stop himself. He heard how horrible it sounded, but it was too late. Everything in the galley came to a halt as the crew turned to stare at him. Hera was the only one who looked anything like sympathetic; either she knew he hadn't meant to make a fool of himself, or she knew that he was about to die.

Sabine's forkful of noodles stopped in mid-air, halfway up to her mouth. She glared daggers. "Now I am." She smacked her fork onto her plate and shoved it away. It was, in fact, her second serving. "Thanks for that."

"No no no no no no," Ezra gasped, stammering. "I just meant—I've seen you eat, like, as much as I do sometimes—but you're like—you look so—I mean—I thought girls were—"

Hera laid a hand on his knee. "Shhh," she advised softly. She addressed the table at large. "I think what Ezra meant to say was that he was under the impression that women in general don't have the same hearty appetites men do and are often preoccupied with body image." She turned to him for confirmation. "Right?"

He nodded, unspeakably grateful for her assistance. "Yes."

"That's a horrible generalization," Sabine groaned. Catching Hera's reproving look, she tried to temper her irritation. "It may be the case for some girls," she admitted through clenched teeth, "but not all girls."

Kanan rolled his eyes. "Ezra, did you actually know any girls on Lothal?"

"Yeah, your mom," he shot back, pink embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. Kanan gave him a flat stare, unamused, and that's when Ezra remembered that as a former Jedi, Kanan didn't have a mom. In fact, he realized in horror, just about everyone at the table, including himself, was motherless. His one-time favorite retort was ruined forever. "Karabast," he swore under his breath.

Zeb snickered. "You're on a roll today, kid."

"Maybe you should work on Ezra's verbal skills during Jedi lessons," Sabine suggested to Kanan mockingly. Ezra didn't trust himself to say anything, so he just glared. He could feel his face flaming. He was usually able to roll with the punches, but today, the teasing rankled him.

"Alright, enough," Kanan said, glancing at Ezra. His tone left no room for debate. Ezra didn't know that Kanan was remembering his days as a padawan, when his mouth often got in the way of his good intentions. A lot had happened since then, but Kanan vividly recalled that being fourteen really sucked sometimes. "Zeb and Sabine, if you're done, you two can go on a supply run to Capitol City."

If unhappy with that assignment, the two knew better than to argue. The galley cleared and Ezra found himself standing next to Hera at the sink, drying the dishes she handed him. The task was oddly soothing; he wondered if she'd given it to him on purpose.

"Sabine is a lot of bark and seldom ever any bite," Hera said, breaking a companionable silence.

"Yeah, I know." He tried not to sound glum. "It's just—" He stopped himself, gnawing his lip in uncertainty.

She did him the courtesy of not staring as he tried to find the right words. "Just what?" She prompted gently.

"I'm not trying to be an idiot. It just happens on accident." He swallowed nervously and glanced at her sideways. "You know?"

A soft smile turned her lips. "I do know," she said. She dried her hands on her slacks and touched his shoulder. "Go sit. I'll join you."

Ezra obeyed, sitting at the galley table. He watched for several minutes as Hera prepared two mugs of tea, humming as she worked. When she handed one to him, he sniffed it deeply. Once again, his mouth moved before his mind had time to process. "My mom used to drink this," he said around a sudden lump in his throat.

Hera smiled in understanding. "Mine, too."

For a long moment, Ezra studied the Twi'lek woman. From his first moments aboard the Ghost, she had been the one person who made him feel completely at ease. He never felt he had to try and win her favor. She was the kind of person you wanted to be around because you felt like a better version of yourself just by spending time in her company. On top of that, she was a phenomenal pilot, smart, passionate, and kind, not to mention beautiful, and her voice was absolutely captivating, even when she was bossing people around. Ezra thought of her as an authoritative, much-older sister type, but it wasn't hard to see why Kanan looked at her like she was the only woman in the entire galaxy. Ezra hadn't yet dared to ask about the exact nature of Kanan and Hera's relationship, but he had a few suspicions. He liked that they were…whatever they were. Their co-leadership created stability, something Ezra hadn't known he'd been craving. He spent a lot of time thinking about what Sabine said when they first met: the crew was indeed like a family. He just wasn't sure yet how he fit in.

Ezra got lost in his musings, watching how steam rose from his mug and swirled in the air before evaporating. He took a few sips and savored each one. As the liquid warmed him from the inside out, his anxieties ebbed away. "Thanks for this," he said, realizing he hadn't spoken in a while.

"The tea's in that cabinet there," Hera said, pointing over her shoulder. "You're welcome to it any time." Her head was tilted slightly, green eyes watching him with a keen gaze.

"I didn't mean just the tea," he mumbled back. "Everything. You took me in. You didn't have to do that. I'm just a—"

She held up a slender hand. "If that sentence ends with 'Loth-rat,' don't finish it."

"I was actually gonna say 'punk kid.'"

Hera smiled, thinking of Kanan and Gorse. "Lucky for you, I specialize in punk kids." She tapped one finger on her mug. "You and I met once before, you know."

His jaw dropped. "What? When?"

"Oh," she began, eyes shifting as she searched her memory. "About five or six years ago. It was the first time Kanan and I'd ever been to Lothal. We stopped out here for fuel and supplies and ended up staying for a few days to check out the Empire."

"I bet that was fun," Ezra said with an eye roll.

"You know, it really was. That was the same trip I saved Kanan from getting himself beat to death at Old Jho's." Hera stopped and flashed a grin. "But that's a story for another day."

Ezra filed that tidbit away for later. "How do you know we met before? I was still a little kid back then."

"Well," she said wryly, "I actually remember meeting 'Jabba the Hutt.' When you told us you gave that name when Kallus captured you, it jogged my memory." She hummed. "Let's see. I was walking through the markets in Capitol City—"

"Did I pickpocket you?" Ezra turned a shade pale.

"Yes and no," she answered with a smile. "I'd watched you for a while as you worked the crowd. I was surprised to see a principled thief; you didn't take anything from the poor or elderly, and you didn't take jewelry or personal valuables. You were lifting loose credits, odds and ends, things like that. Naturally, I was very curious."

"I must have pickpocketed in that market a bazillion times," Ezra said sheepishly, "but I don't ever remember seeing a Twi'lek." Lothal had a healthy mix of human and alien inhabitants, but Twi'leks weren't very common there. He knew he would have remembered seeing one as attractive as Hera.

"It was a rainy day. I was wearing a hood and jacket," she explained. Her lips pressed together as she remembered the scene. "You weren't. I don't even think you had shoes on."

Ezra saw raw compassion in her eyes and it made that lump in his throat reappear. "So what happened?"

"Eventually, we wound up at the same stall and I struck up a conversation with you. We traded fake names. I pretended to ask for directions and—"

Ezra gasped and his eyes lit up as the memory clicked. "I remember now! You bought a star-fruit and when you paid, you put a few credits in your coat pocket instead of back in your coin purse, and I thought that was stupid—" He stopped suddenly and his demeanor changed as he worked to understand her. "You did that on purpose. You knew I'd pickpocket those creds."

She nodded. "I did."

He laughed incredulously. "Hera, why? Why would you go out of your way for a punk kid like that? I don't get it."

"Because I didn't see a punk kid," she said, laying one hand over his. "I saw a nine year old boy stealing to survive. The Empire had promised its citizens safety and security, but there I was watching a child get by on his own. It made me angry. That's why."

"So you decided to stick it to the Empire that day by letting a kid who called himself 'Jabba the Hutt' steal your money?"

"To be fair," Hera said, cheeks darkening, "it was money Kanan had won in a game of sabacc, and I was really mad at him at the time."

Ezra grinned. "So you wanted to stick it to the Empire and to Kanan."

"Something like that."

"Wow."

A brief silence lapsed. Ezra was feeling several different things he was trying to sort through: astonishment, humility, gratefulness, and, chiefly, bald curiosity. "I guess you and Kanan have known each other a pretty long time," he mused with studied disinterest. "What's the story on you guys, anyway?"

She smiled primly. "What's the story on your crush on Sabine?"

He flushed. "Touché."

A silent moment passed. "I know it's not easy adjusting to a new life, but I'm glad you're here, Ezra. We all are," Hera said at last. "I mean that."

"I know you do." He rose from the table and moved to throw an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug. "Thanks, Hera."

He scooted out of the galley; enough mushiness for one day. His step was light as he made his way to his room. He'd been feeling like an interloper, like he had to earn the right to be on the Ghost and Hera dispelled that notion with a cup of tea and a few gentle words. She was undoubtedly the glue that held everyone together, balancing their wildness with her serenity, their fears with her faith. Ezra suspected that if anything ever happened to Hera, the rest of the crew would quickly fall into chaos.

Kanan felt the same way, though he'd never say it. For one thing, he had just a little too much pride. For another, he didn't want to tempt fate by vocalizing such a thought. He'd long since quit trying to convince himself that he didn't need her the same way he needed to breathe. He was pretty sure he'd still be drunk and drifting if he'd never met Hera, but he liked to think that he'd made it this far in life on a little of his own merit.

He stared at the back of her head for a while, leaning sulkily in the cockpit doorframe. "You 'specialize' in punk kids?"

She half-turned in his direction. "I had a feeling you overheard that. You disagree?" A flicker of a playful smile touched her lips as she turned back to the helm. "I think you turned out pretty well."

He sat in the co-pilot's seat, crumbling his frame in a lazy slouch. "You were still in your teens when we met, remember?"

"You were still getting into bar fights when we met, remember?" She countered with a sly smile.

He laughed and sat up a little, leaning toward her. "I got into a few of those after we met, too." He tapped her knee and grinned. "Couple of times, you threw the first punch."

She brushed her fingers on the back of his hand, still on her knee. "We're not those kids anymore."

"No," he agreed dryly, "now we have kids. Do you ever stop and wonder how that happened?"

Hera looked up sharply, hearing an unspoken insecurity underneath the flippancy. She could read him like a neon sign. "You can train Ezra, and train him well. I believe that."

He made a noncommittal noise and rubbed a hand over his beard. "I could fail," he pointed out. "Spectacularly."

"You could," she agreed, "or Lothal's sun could implode, or I could accidentally crash the Ghost, or you could pour out that bottle of Corellian brandy hidden in your room." She gave him a long-suffering look and patted his hand only a little condescendingly. "But I know that none of those things is very likely to happen, love."

"Boy," he said with a massive eye roll, "you sure do know how to make a guy feel better, Hera."

She stood up and approached his seat, invading his personal space as she bent at the waist to put herself at eye level with him. His eyebrows rose in surprise as she kissed his forehead and then his mouth. It was a brief kiss, chaste and sweet, meant to reassure him. "You always know just when to do that," he said, voice husky.

She straightened, tracing her thumb over his jaw as she did. "I told you," she said with a soft smile, "I specialize in punk kids."