Every one of the crew members has had a rough past.
All of them have their secrets about their it, and all of them respect these secrets.
They all get nightmares from time to time, and they all have their own way of coping with them.
Hera, being the only Twi'lek on board, is the only one with a short enough sleep cycle to be awake in the early hours of the morning to see these ways in action, though.
Zeb, always being rather drowsy at that time of the morning, sits on the edge of his bunk, wide toes against the ground but not really supporting any of his weight. He puts his chin in his hands, and stares out across the room- so dark that only his large yellow eyes can make out the little bag of Lasan dust that he keeps tucked behind his Honor Guard medallion on the shelf.
It is his most sacred memento that he doesn't think anybody else knows about. Not even Ezra, who thinks he has searched every nook and cranny, and crawled through every vent aboard the Ghost, snooping through people's rooms, has noticed it. He's probably seen it, sure, but never really noticed it. After all, a bag of dirt can't be that important.
Zeb will reach out to it once or twice, without rising from his bunk and still well too far away to reach it without getting up and walking over it. It's like he wants to grab it, open it up, hold it under his nose, and breathe in the smell of his beloved planet: the air, the leaves, the mountains, dirt, and all of the sunshine that used to shine into Lasan, but he never does. Because one day, he'd breathe the last of the dust in, and the last good piece of Lasan would be gone, the last good piece of Zeb gone along with it.
Ezra, despite all of Kanan's training and the trust in others that the crew has planted and nourished in him, has too much pride to let anybody else in on his own problems. Unless it's a dire life or death situation, you'll have to prod before he tells you anything.
Normally, he'll turn and thrash in his sleep above Zeb, sometimes throwing his blankets off of the top bunk, and sometimes tangling his limbs in them. The mumbling starts soon after: incoherent strings of words- punctuated with a guttural sounds from the back of his throat, like he's being strangled. But, he never wakes up, not until Zeb has had enough and shakes him awake. Ezra will jump and startle awake every time, grumpy and defensively insisting that there was never anything wrong. Zeb always rolls his eyes and doesn't push the issue - the few times he has, Ezra has pushed him away, and the two lie back down. Zeb can tell from Ezra's ragged breathing that he never quite goes back to sleep, though, and Zeb has never fallen back asleep afterward either- not with the sound of Ezra trying and failing to go through his breathing exercises, still half panicked above him.
Kanan, despite how close the two are, Hera rarely ever sees in such a condition, for when Kanan is frightened awake by his inner demons, he stays in his room, only ever leaving the door open twice when he thought that nobody else on the ship would be awake. He''ll gather his lightsaber- both pieces, and clip them together into one, though he never ignites it. Instead, he'll just stare at the hilt in his lap, and Hera can only imagine what he might be remembering. Kanan will stare at the hilt for far too long to be healthy, occasionally running his calloused thumb over the delicate designs and intricate carvings in the metal. Sometimes, he'll be so still that Hera will wonder if he's somehow fallen asleep with his eyes open. But no, eventually he'll rock back on his heels, close his eyes, and begin to meditate. He'll stay like this for hours, and stop only when the sun on a planet they're on begins to shine, or when Hera decides to flick the ship's lights on.
Sabine is a bit more of a mystery than even Kanan. She'll come out of her room, night clothes replaced with her usual decorative armor, no matter the time, with her eyebrows pinched together. Her eyes will be as fiery as ever, but with a different kind of flame in them: one that's tired, and perhaps a little bit scared. Everytime without fail, she'll make herself a cup of caff, and retreat back to her room- her sanctuary. She'll come out in the morning along with the rest of the crew, seemingly fine, but nobody can miss the distinct stinging smell of paint that's stuck to her clothes when she sits down to eat breakfast- almost nauseatingly distinct.
However, these instances are rare, and most mornings, Hera is awake by herself. Sometimes Kanan will get up early to keep her company, but lately she's insisted that he sleep in. They all need all of the sleep and strength that they can get nowadays.
And besides, mornings like these give Hera a chance to fight off her own demons- to go through her own ritual. She slips quietly down to the engine room to reassure herself that her ship is still going strong. It's one of the most important things in the galaxy to her - only the crew on board could hold a candle to it. She's piloted more potent and stunning ships before, but the Ghost is her ship: Captain and ship - one and the same. She feels each noise the engine makes thrum through her veins, breathing life into her, and every fracture and wheeze it emits eat away a bit at her soul.
The ship gives her a purpose, a means to make a difference. In an odd sense, despite being light years away from anything that resembles land, it grounds her- keeps her sane. So, for a few hours in the morning, she'll sit back and watch the engine, focusing on the sound of its powerful thrum, like there's nothing wrong, like the ship knows that times are hard, but it will just thrum its way through them without a second thought.
And she stays that way, listening to the heartbeat of her ship.
Until Kanan turns the lights on.
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