On the Loom of Chariclo 2

Ezra had wanted to say 'goodbye' to Sabine and Zeb, but Kanan had forbidden it. Well not exactly forbidden it, but had insisted that he take the brief time they would need before departure to Jelucan to pack a few supplies. His mind still reeling from the events of the morning, he had hurriedly gathered a few things and fairly raced to the landing platform upon receiving Kanan's crisp com call.

Expecting to find his master already on board - probably saying a proper goodbye to Hera – he'd thought rather ruefully, he was surprised to see them standing next to the boarding ramp.

Hera, being Hera, was no longer worried mother, or anxious lover. As she was wont, she had easily slipped back into 'Commander Syndulla' form, something Ezra had seen her become in the blink of an eye many times. It was Kanan himself who gave him pause.

Gone was the scrubby, sleepy, and probably love-sick man he had seen such a short time earlier. In his place stood Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight, and master to a young padawan. He was dressed in his typical cloths, green shirt, shoulder guard strapped in place, his DL 18 blaster in easy reach. His dark hair, now neatly slicked back, and the jaig mask covered his eyes, it was only arms were held tightly, across his chest that gave any indication that he was ill at ease.

"Come back, you promised." Ezra heard Hera say, shifting her weight to the other foot. She was all business. No 'love', or any other term of endearment, only perhaps a touch of sadness in her eyes.

It was Kanan who reached across the what seemed to be insurmountable distance between them, and even then, it was only to touch her shoulder. "We will," a slight smile touched his lips, and was gone just as quickly. As his hand dropped, his fingertips lingered on hers, just for a moment. "I promise."

The moment had passed, and it was time to leave.


It would take them nearly two days to reach to reach Jelucan, and surprisingly, Kanan allowed Ezra to take the first watch. Kanan, ran his hand through his hair, perhaps reliving Hera's gentle touch. He had admitted that the night before had been one of the best nights of sleep he'd gotten since Malachore (where he had been blinded) despite the early wake up call. Neither had mentioned the idea that even in the captain's quarters, bunk space on the Ghost was tight for one being, much less two, and Ezra doubted he had actually slept much anyway. Wordlessly squeezing Ezra's shoulder in thanks, Kanan retired to the crew quarters, leaving him to his own thoughts.

In the years he had been with the crew of the Ghost, he had always seen Kanan as a stoic, often grumpy task-master. Granted, he had his moments of levity often in the form of biting wit and banter, especially between himself and Hera. It had taken him months to even dare raise the question (which had been firmly rebuffed but not denied) that Kanan and Hera had a little more than 'friendship' and 'camaraderie' going on, despite all the small endearments and tender moments they shared, especially when they thought no one was looking. He also understood that both Kanan and Hera loved him (and Sabine and Zeb, and even Chopper) without question or equal, but today, in the rawness of the morning, he had actually, perhaps for the first time, seen Kanan the man himself.

It wasn't as if Kanan was ashamed of his body. Indeed, on the rare occasions when Sabine and Hera had left them to their own devices – and even rarer occasions when Kanan would relieve him of training duties – perhaps a handful of times that Ezra could recall in all, 'boys will be boys' had reigned supreme. Granted it had primarily been Zeb and Ezra acting the tarter, while Kanan cleaned up the mess before the women came home, but there had been the one occasion where, his cloths had mysteriously vanished while he was in the shower, and only a small wash rag had been left in its place. A very small wash rag. The distance between the fresher and the bunk room he shared with Zeb was only a few meters, but it was the longest few meters of his life, especially as Hera and Sabine were due back at any time. After a frantic few minutes, he'd finally found his cloths, neatly folded up on the dejarick table, and at last he could hear his missing crew-mates, laughing uproariously from the cock-pit.

He had always seen Kanan, well, 'put together' for want of a better word. When they had rescued him from the clutches of the Inquistor, the first thing Kanan had insisted on (despite Hera's insistence that he needed a visit to the Med-bay, and then sleep) was to get cleaned up and redressed. Even blinded, he had tried to shave, eventually giving up and growing the full beard he now wore, still keeping it neat and clean. Always though, a well fitting pair of trousers shirt and socks, if not the ever present boots and hair neatly tied back. It was if he wore his cloths like armor, shielding himself from the galaxy at large, from morning to ship's night.

This morning had been different though. Kanan had risen (from Hera's bunk) a (at the time) contented, disheveled mess, not even attempting to hide the little mark that was too new, too fresh and well placed to be anything other than it was. A sign of affectionate possession. Never before, and without doubt never again. It was a moment, a gift, and Ezra would treasure it like a rare pearl.

Ezra sighed. He would allow his master a few more hours of much needed sleep, he had checked, and he had been – sprawled out on the bunk, boots off but still fully dressed and hair still immaculately tied- but genuinely asleep, then wake him later. In the mean time, he would study the Jedi Holocron to see if there would be any information on Folaim, and perhaps more importantly, what or who was Lelantus.