A/N: Happy birthday, friend! You know who you are. I hope it's a spook-tacular one!

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Sabine was starting to feel uncomfortable under the weight of Ezra's scowl. She could feel it on her back, resentful and peeved, as she dug through the Ghost's medbay cabinets for the first aid kit. She wondered if maybe he would have laughed this incident off a few months ago, before Malachor and everything. Added height and broadened shoulders weren't the only changes she'd noticed in Ezra. She banished the thought with a shudder.

"I'm so, so sorry," she said for the dozenth time. She walked toward him with the first aid kit and a cold pack in her hands.

"I know," she grumbled. "I said it's fine."

Sabine actively bit her tongue to keep a sharp retort from flying out of her mouth. She waved a hand and he scooted to sit with his back against the wall, long legs awkwardly crossed like a child's. She hopped up on the stiff medbay bunk, sitting in front of him, knee to knee. "If I'd known you were distracted, I wouldn't have thrown the punch." She unzipped the first aid kit, spreading it out in her lap. She gave Ezra a cursory glance. "What were you looking at, anyway?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Kanan."

"Oh." As she and Ezra had been doing some hand-to-hand sparring in the hold, she'd noticed their now-reclusive leader coming out of the cockpit, but she hadn't thought much of it. Clearly, Ezra had. "Are you guys—"

"It's fine."

She sighed, frowning. "So you keep saying. Hold still."

She took a moist towelette and wiped away the thin trickle of blood near the corner of his left eye. The gash was small, but it had bled immediately and the bruise was already dark and puffy. His eye would likely be swollen shut by evening. As she reached for the antiseptic solution and a cotton ball, Sabine flexed her hand. It was aching; she'd hit him hard, throwing a punch meant to be stopped by his palm.

Ezra, for his part, looked at her slender fingers and marveled at how the same hands capable of setting violent, destructive explosions and delivering death-punches were cupping his injured face with such tender carefulness. Her face was scant inches away from his, amber eyes singularly focused on his own as she decided how to proceed with treating his black eye; he forgot how to breathe.

"I could have done this myself," he said. He pulled out of her grasp, eager to be away from her and the turbulent things she stirred in him. Being around Sabine reminded him of all the things he wasn't and all the ways he'd failed. "Let me do it."

Her lips flattened in a line of thinly-veiled impatience. "I'm almost done."

She touched the cotton ball to his skin and he yelled, jerking. "Ow! That hurts—watch what you're doing.!"

Sabine's mouth fell open. Ezra had never raised his voice at her and it stung. She masked her hurt with anger of her own and threw everything back in the medkit, yanking on the zipper as she shoved the cold pack at him. "Calm down," she snapped, jumping off the bunk. "It isn't me you're mad at!"

She wanted to storm out, wanted to make sure he knew how stupid he was being, but something kept her rooted firmly in place. She folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the ceiling, counting to ten. Her frustration evaporated. "It isn't me you're mad at, Ezra," she said again, quietly. "So, what then?"

His eyes widened and his face flushed with shame. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He rubbed his forehead, not meeting her gaze. "Thanks for…fixing this." He touched the cold pack to his eye, wincing. "I'll just be in my room."

But he didn't move and neither did she.

"I'm worried about you," Sabine blurted.

A near-smile turned Ezra's lips. "Awww," he said. There was a trace of his old, incorrigible self. "You care."

"Of course I care, di'kut. You're family. And—" She swallowed back whatever sentimental thing was trying to make its way out of her mouth. "Of course I care."

"I—" His mouth opened and closed over and over again. "Right now just…it just sucks, Sabine." His eyes flicked to hers. "I'm sorry I'm a jerk about it sometimes. I am angry, but not at you. Never at you."

She smiled lamely. "Not even about the shiner?"

That earned a real Ezra Bridger grin. "Nah. It's probably one of the best I've ever had. And it's not too often you get to say you walked away from a fight with a Mandalorian and have her apologizing for it."

"Only because I drew blood," she said severely. "I'd be all too happy to give you a matching set if you keep running your mouth like that."

He pretended to consider. "You know, I'll pass." He slid off the bunk, the cold pack held gingerly to the side of his face, and shoved his free hand in his pocket. "Thanks again."

She watched him shuffle out of the medbay, thinking that he looked far too serious and worn for sixteen—

She gasped softly. He wasn't sixteen. Today was Empire Day.

"Kriff," she swore under her breath. "Ezra! Wait." He turned around and she took a few halting steps toward him. His brows raised questioningly. She gnawed her lip. "I—I'm so sorry about all of it."

A shadow seemed to fall across his face and he mentally withdrew. "It's—"

She threw her arms around his neck, surprising them both. "If you say, 'It's fine,' I'll black your other eye," she warned thickly. She would hardly admit it, but her heart was breaking for him. She had to whisper her next words. "Happy birthday, Ezra."

He stiffened and then relaxed in her embrace, burying his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder. They melted to the ground, holding each other tightly. There was no romance in it, just Sabine giving Ezra what he needed most: the profound comfort of human contact and the first hope that everything would be okay.

For a moment, it was exactly enough.