Alone.
"You seem to spend a lot of time alone," he had said.
Sabine couldn't deny that it was true; that was why she had let Ezra blather on. She did like to be alone. It was simpler, safer. When she had first left the Academy, she couldn't go two minutes without glancing over her shoulder. A permanent anxiety rooted in her stomach, only dissipating when she was finally alone and could be certain that she was safe. Alone, there was no risk of being attacked, no pressure to react the right way, no need to agonize over how trustworthy an individual was.
She had herself. She could trust herself. And it was as simple as that. Sabine couldn't have been more relieved when, upon joining the Ghost crew, she discovered she had her own room, her own space. The Mandalorian needed to be able to retreat into the safety of solitude; it was like the breath she had been holding all day could exhale out the second her doors slid shut.
Her first night with the crew was torture, and not at all because they were trying to make it that way. In fact, it was the opposite: Hera suggested they have dinner together in order to welcome their new addition. An unenthusiastic Sabine spent the evening sitting stiffly at the table, trying to answer and evade questions that she knew were forming their first impression of her, caught between giving truthful answers and covering up her past with lies. The Mandalorian couldn't distinguish between her company's reactions to either. Sweating in what felt like the hot seat, she excused herself the second the meal ended and dashed off to her quarters, heaving a sigh of relief. The air felt cool on her flushed skin, and as the tension she had been holding in her entire body lessened, she realized that her fingernails had dug angry red crescents in her palms.
Sabine took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She knew from experience that the anxiety would eventually fade to its usual background buzz, but right now it was a crashing like thunder.
"Sabine?" All too soon, Hera's voice was at her door, bringing with it a fresh wave of apprehension. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine!" Sabine hurried to lie.
"May I come in?"
The nauseating feeling in her stomach returned, and Sabine scrambled to her feet. "Sure," she called weakly. Her doors slid open, and the Twi'lek looked at her closely, her green eyes narrow with concern.
"Is everything okay?"
"Of course," Sabine said quickly. She could feel the pilot's gaze burning into her.
"You ran off after dinner," Hera remarked. "I thought I would check on you."
"I'm fine. Everything's fine." Inside her boots, Sabine's toes tapped feverishly.
Hera still looked unconvinced. "I know it's your first night here," she said kindly. "And it will probably feel a little strange at first, but I want you to be comfortable." She looked sincere, empathetic, but Sabine couldn't focus on her words. No matter how benevolent Hera's intentions were, she needed to leave.
"I am."
"Good. I'll just check your temperature control, make sure everything's working. The ship gets cold when the engines are off." Hera knelt in front of a panel on the wall so that Sabine was in her peripheral vision, and the Mandalorian tried not to look too impatient. She fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her arms, until Hera finally stood up and faced her.
"Sabine, what's going on?" Her voice was soft, laced with concern, and she seemed curious rather than demanding. Nonetheless, the question sent a jolt of anxiety through her. Sabine started stammering.
"Nothing, nothing at all, I…"
She trailed off; something in Hera's mien told her that the Twi'lek wouldn't be satisfied with superficiality, and she sighed. "I just… feel like being alone, that's all."
Hera's expression softened, and a knowing look surfaced in her eyes. "You don't trust us yet."
"Wha—" Sabine was shocked. "Hera, no, I swear I—"
To her surprise, Hera reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. You've been on your own a long time." The touch, as gentle and maternal as could be, seemed to drain the pool of anxiety out of Sabine's stomach, and she allowed herself to relax under Hera's hand. There was nothing but kindness and a trace of sympathy in Hera's eyes when she added, "Believe me, I know what it's like."
"You do?" Sabine was surprised; she hadn't known that the Ghost's crew hadn't always been composed of four.
"Are you kidding?" Hera smiled. "I locked Kanan in his room every night for the first three weeks." She laughed at the memory, and Sabine joined in, amused at the idea of the older man trapped in his own quarters. Her mirth faded, however, as she realized that she would have been tempted to do the same.
"When… when did that change?" Sabine asked quietly.
"When we were attacked in the middle of the night and I realized I didn't have a gunner." Hera shook her head wistfully, and gave Sabine a meaningful smile. "I decided to start trusting him after that," she chuckled, and her gaze drifted to the Kanan's door. "It was probably one of the best decisions of my life," she added softly. The Twi'lek turned her attention back to Sabine, her voice adopting a didactic tone.
"In this business, you need to have people you can trust," she said intently. Sabine swallowed hard and nodded, and Hera's eyes crinkled into a smile. "Your moment will come. Hopefully it won't be as life-or-death as mine was. Until then, I just need you to understand that you wouldn't be here if we didn't want you. This ship is your home now, for as long as you want it to be, and we're glad to have you on it."
Sabine felt her eyes stinging, and she blinked furiously against whatever tears dared rise. "Thanks, Hera."
Then Hera did something surprising: she hugged her. Sabine froze; she couldn't remember the last time she had been so warmly embraced.
"Take as much alone time as you need," Hera said softly, her chin on Sabine's shoulder. "But there's no need to put up walls. You're safe here."
And after so many years of being frozen, the Mandalorian girl allowed herself to thaw. She melted into Hera's embrace and let her eyes close, savoring the simple pleasure of being held by someone who meant it. Hera, in turn, quietly realized just how badly the girl seemed to need it.
The pilot gave her newest Spectre a final, tight squeeze, and left with a warm smile and the words, "I'll be in the common room if you need me."
She walked away knowing that Sabine needed her a lot more than she thought. The girl, while tough, was somewhat of an anxious wreck, but who could blame her? Hera knew better than anyone what came hand in hand with being alone in the galaxy.
As the door closed in Hera's wake, Sabine found herself smiling, and sat down against her bed, hugging her knees into her chest. The ever-present anxiety had disappeared, and in its place, a pleasant warmth took hold. Sabine knew the feeling, but it had been absent so long it took her a moment to decrypt. It was a sense of belonging, the feeling that she was in the right place and wanted there.
It felt good, as comfortable as her own armor. And as time went on, she slipped seamlessly into the fabric of the Ghost crew. Hera became a mother, confidante and mentor to her, and paired with Kanan, the two took on a parental role. Zeb brought plenty of amusement, and Sabine would even admit that it was handy, or at the very least amusing, having Chopper around.
She still struggled with trust, though not nearly as much. Sabine trusted the Ghost crew with her life, but it was still difficult letting them, or anyone, in. She hadn't spoken much about her childhood on Mandalore, or her instruction at the Academy, or her stint with Ketsu. Hera had graciously given her time and space to process that on her own, never asking questions unless the intel was necessary for a mission. Sabine appreciated her discretion in that aspect, but in other areas, the Twi'lek's tight-lippedness could be frustrating.
She knew that Hera only withheld information to protect them, but that protocol was growing increasingly frustrating for Sabine. The hypocrisy of resenting Hera's secrecy, especially when that secrecy was so essential to their mission, did not go unseen by her, but Sabine couldn't help feeling disillusioned. She was grateful for the resolution that had risen from their mission together at Fort Anaxes, and to finally be clued in to the greater Rebel movement.
However, with the new information came new people, new ships and new situations, and being alone appealed to her now more than ever. It was Sabine's retreat: from having to prove herself to all of them, from trying to learn all of their customs and names. Being alone was just so much simpler.
It was almost too easy to slip back into that habit, into the safety of it. There was no beeping from Chopper, no surprise coms going off, no bickering between Rex and Kanan or Zeb and Ezra, and no attempted flirting from the latter. Sabine didn't have to worry about how her responses to any of the above would be interpreted; she could simply be. It was her time to create, to work on her art (she hated working in the presence of others, even sketching).
She still hung around the crew plenty, and Hera pulled her out now and again, whenever she started tending towards reclusiveness. But she probably spent more time alone than anyone else on the team, even Zeb. Ezra was always about, eager for interaction (she assumed it was from so many years of being alone on the streets), and while Kanan and Hera disappeared now and then, it was usually because they were spending time together.
Sabine stared harder at the graffiti symbol on the wall. Ezra didn't know about Ketsu's betrayal, at least, not yet. Maybe if he did, he would understand why she preferred her solitude. But the Mandalorian didn't see it as such. Even if she was in her room alone, Sabine was still accompanied by the knowledge that someone who cared about her was right outside the door.
And that was one of the greatest things the Ghost had given her: not just a family to break the solitude, but a place where she didn't need it to feel safe.