A/N: Alright, this one turned out to be a difficult one for me, but here it is! Enjoy!

Also wanted to take a moment to remind everyone that I included a piano on the Ghost.

Etched and Detailed

Silence filled the Ghost, but it was no ordinary silence. Not this time. This was a silence that Kallus hadn't experienced in quite a while.

This was the silence of an empty ship. Empty, save for him.

It had taken two months, and though he was still on probation, he'd finally earned enough trust from the crew to be left alone for short periods of time. It was a blessed relief. The claustrophobia was easier to deal with, after so long, but to have an entire space to himself was truly a gift. And he understood how valuable that gift was. The crew, his crew, they trusted him. Trusted him not to take the Ghost and turn tail. Trusted him to have their backs. Trusted him not to summon the Empire, now that he was unchaperoned.

The first time it had happened it had been unexpected. Startling, because he'd had fantasies where they'd do just that. Abruptly tell him they had to go away, and he was in charge of the ship. He'd dreamed of it when he was particularly stifled and agitated. Kallus had even made plans as to what he'd do with the freedom and privacy, and suddenly that fantasy had turned real.

All he'd done in that hour of solitude was sit still in the galley and breathe. It was reviving.

The second time, and the rare times after that, he took advantage of the privacy. For months he'd ignored the tall, dusty black shape of the piano in the corner. In truth, he was surprised by the expensive model and design, because it was one he'd seen occasionally on small luxury cruisers. Tall and wide as opposed to long, it was designed for elegance and space saving, even if it sacrificed on a purer quality of sound which defined a proper concert piano. It was also clearly designed for space travel, given the auto-tuning controls and elaborate internal mechanical work which stabilized the instrument as a whole.

When he'd asked about it, why something so decadent, expensive, and out of place was even there at all, Kanan had explained it was Captain Syndulla's decision. A way of balancing the Ghost. She swore up and down that the massive weight of the instrument helped the ship fly better. Apparently, several years ago they'd gone on mission to deliver the instrument to a buyer, only to find out the buyer hadn't wanted it anymore. The person he'd intended on gifting it to had left him, and he'd insisted they dispose of it themselves. While the possibility of selling something so valuable had been tempting, Captain Syndulla had kept it.

Judging from the dust and the dying sound the ivory made when he depressed a key, the piano hadn't found a dedicated, loving player in quite some time. If ever. Sometimes Bridger would tap on a key when he was bored during a briefing, or create a dissonant chord that would make Kallus' teeth clench painfully even if it was meant to annoy Zeb instead of him. But that was the full extent he'd seen it used since he'd come aboard.

Kallus had been more than happy to rectify that, if in secret.

Tuning the instrument had taken a long time, despite the helpful add-ons designed to make tuning in constant space travel easier. Years enduring battles with the crew and no upkeep had jarred the auto-tuning. He'd had to fix the system to the best of his ability, then tune manually by ear. In between a smattering of hours, and one unexpected night alone, he'd finally managed to get the instrument sounding clean.

It wasn't perfect, but it was perfect enough to start practicing again.

It was as he'd expected. After years of neglect, he was abysmal. His hands and fingers were stiff and ached in ways they hadn't since childhood, but the very act of summoning up sweet notes and gentle melodies – few that they were – was encouraging. Luckily it became clear he didn't have to start over entirely. Kallus surprised himself with how much he could still recall, and with the practice came growing mastery once again. He was gradually picking up more difficult pieces, constantly challenging himself against the youth he'd been. In his spare time, when the rest of his crew was around and he couldn't practice directly, he'd sit in the turret and practice in the air, like he used to before concerts. He'd spend his time before bed reading sheet music on his datapad. He'd dream of the sound.

Then when he finally had privacy again, it felt as if a flood had been released from within him. He'd put his fingers on the keys, take three centering breaths to calm his mind and prepare … and what came was music racing in a hurried rush. The clandestine practice helped, but the desire for perfection was always forgotten in that first round of wild music. The initial euphoria was heady and pure, sinking right into his chest and filling his soul. When he'd finish, he'd slump with his head tipped back in pleasure. Enjoy that perfect moment of creative flow.

After that glorious moment ended he often remembered where he was and that, if he wanted to make the most of his time before the others returned, he needed to start practicing. After all, he was still sub-par, even if he was getting better. He may never be concert level again, but he could still reach a point where his ears wouldn't ache when he practiced. Usually the practice was challenging, but useful. Always showing progress and building his confidence, allowing himself to push further.

Frustration, however, was getting the best of him this time. Though the first piece he played for the session came out lovely and beautiful given its easier skill level and his previous practice with it, this second one was … difficult. He'd been working on this piece for two weeks, and still he was tumbling over himself in an attempt to make it even half way. His fingers weren't fast enough for the allegro, nor were they limber enough to stretch and retract in time to maintain the melody. Kallus remembered being a boy and flying through this particular piece easily, mastering it before he explored something new.

The distinction tore at him.

Much as Kallus wanted to be content with the lesser skill he was only capable of now, a deep part of him wanted to be there again. Able to play whatever he wanted because skill did not hinder him. To recapture a defining part of his youth before the Empire had dug into him so deeply and convinced him to give it up.

But with the music jumbled and terrible as it was now, his fingers clumsy and refusing to respond appropriately to his command, Kallus was starting to wonder why he was even attempting this at all. He felt as if that part of himself he was trying to take back again now refused to be exhumed, like a punishment for letting it go in the first place. The Agent in him chided him and insisted he give it up since he'd never be as good again, going at this rate. He was a soldier now, not a pianist. With the struggle he was having, he was tempted to agree.

But he continued to sit at the bench. He kept looking at the music on the datapad and knew he could bring it to life, if he kept practicing. All he needed to do was try again.

Kallus took a breath, framing his mindset, before attempting the passage that was being stubborn. He'd go slower this time, work his way up to allegro. Baby steps. And once he mastered it slowly, he'd pick up the pace. He just needed to be patient. This was a piece intended for advanced and expert level players, and he was intermediate at best. Reclaiming a skill with only a handful of hours of practice a week naturally took time.

Slowing down help, but it sounded childish to his ears, beating at his confidence when he still stumbled over the fingerings. He sighed and remembered the way his fingers used to flit across the black and white. Kallus had been so good at this. He'd loved it so much. Hours were spent in his youth before the piano every day, and he'd hardly notice.

Sometimes Kallus' anger at the Empire was just that. Anger. Other times, like now, it was hate, and disappointment at himself for having given his music up in the first place.

His fingers throbbed as he repeated the passage at the same pedantic pace. If he had regular practice he knew they wouldn't ache so much, and he'd progress leaps and bounds. But there was no way he could let the others know. After all, what would they think? The rain of criticism would fall non-stop from Bridger's mouth, and Kallus couldn't bear platitudes for the sake of niceness he was certain the others would give. He knew he wasn't good enough to deserve real praise. At least, he didn't think so, and until he felt he was as good as he once was, he was content to keep the others in the dark.

Though at the rate he was going, he might die of old age before that ever happened.

Disheartened by the thought, Kallus ran a hand through his long hair where it brushed the sides of his cheeks and sighed again before reaching for the datapad and turning it off. He needed a break from this piece. When his fingers grazed the keys again, this time real music came out; one of the first pieces he'd worked hard to relearn, and one of his favorites. It wasn't complicated by any means, but the music was mournful and easy to sympathize with. Ideal for lifting his mood.

Kallus closed his eyes and relaxed into the sound, letting the music express his frustration and disappointment. It curled around him, and he pretended he was young again. Capable again. It was beautiful in his ears. He could almost believe it.

When he stopped and the final haunting note had finally faded away, he was not expecting the soft clapping, nor the kind, "That was incredible!" which came after.

Kallus' heart dropped out of him, adrenaline and alarm clashing in his blood and ripping through the tender peace he'd only just found. He stood quickly, the bench screeching against the floor as the fallboard snapped shut over the keys as if to protect him from what he'd just been doing. Across the way, seated at the dejarik table as if she'd always been there, was Sabine Wren. She sat dressed in her colorful armor, watching him with brown eyes devoid of amusement or scathing judgement.

Kallus was at a loss. What was she doing here? He was supposed to be alone!

"Miss Wren," Kallus said in a clipped tone as his heart hammered at having been caught. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd come aboard."

"I came aboard a few hours ago. Kanan told me you were sleeping at the time," Wren said with a shrug. "Hera wanted my opinion about some weapons designs Ezra stumbled over recently, and I was near enough it wasn't a problem to swing by. Zeb didn't tell you?"

Damn Garazeb Orrelios! If he'd known Sabine Wren had been on board, he'd never have sat on the bench, especially not with the piece he'd been working on. She must have heard him practicing, given the walls of the Ghost were thin. Kallus forced himself to respond calmly, even as embarrassment nipped at him.

"I've found Zeb sometimes forgets pertinent information such as this."

Wren chuckled. "Yeah, he's like that."

This wasn't the first time Sabine Wren had returned to the Ghost for a visit, though usually it was when the rest of the crew was around. When she did visit, his and Wren's interactions were cordial and polite, but little else. There hadn't been much need or opportunity to grow past that since she was usually away helping Mandalore, and her visits to the Ghost were brief. They'd converse of course, and they would work together professionally, but they hadn't exchanged many words beyond that before she was gone again.

Come to think of it, this was the first time they'd spoken like this since Skystrike.

An awkward silence began developing between them, and Kallus still wasn't sure what he should do. His pride insisted he leave and not disgrace himself any more than he already had, but his feet wouldn't move. It had been a week since he'd last played. Leaving now … when would he get his next chance?

"I'm sorry," Wren said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I'm guessing you've been trying to hide that you play from everyone. Haven't you?"

Kallus eyed her and tried not to let his embarrassment show. "You've guessed correctly."

An apologetic smile flashed across her face before she gestured to a stool nearer to him. "May I? I'll try not to take up too much of your time. I know the others should be back soon, and I imagine you probably want to get in as much practice as you can."

Tense and surprised as he was, he gave a tight nod before straightening the bench as he settled down to face her when she took the stool. Very well. It appeared she wished to talk. He supposed he should get the humiliation over with.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed," she finally said. "That last piece you played was beautiful and moving. I really felt it."

"Anything would be impressive when preceded by the failed attempts of the one before." The edge of a bite lingered in his response as he negated her praise. When her lips pressed thin and her eyes hardened, Kallus sighed and forced himself to calm down and try again. "I apologize. It's been a long time since I've put on a performance for anyone, accidental as it was. I haven't been praised for my music in just as long. You're forgive me if I'm … defensive."

Wren huffed a soft chuckle. "Don't worry about it. You used to perform?"

"When I was much younger," he admitted slowly as he tried to relax. He never spoke about his past, if he could help it, but he saw no real harm in answer this simple question. "I used to play at concert standard for my age group."

"Why'd you stop?"

Kallus looked down at his hands, remembering long ago when he was a child, his fingers spry and new as they danced across the ivory with rapid precision. Now they were calloused and hard. Only good for makings fists and pulling triggers.

A dark chuckle slipped from Kallus' throat, and he didn't bother to stop it as he said the truth. "I developed a misplaced sense of duty to the Empire, where I eventually came to believe that ruthlessness and prowess in warfare were more valuable than artistic expression."

To his surprise, Wren gave him a chuckle that matched his for satirical amusement. "Yeah. They're good at making their assets believe that."

Kallus eyed the young woman, thinking back to what he knew of Wren's past and the dense reports he'd had to compile for the Empire. She'd escaped an Imperial academy, but not before she'd been used to create weapons which had been turned against her own people. Her personnel reports had been promising. A rising star, which the Empire had been keeping a close eye on.

And here she was now. Practically the antithesis of everything the Empire strove to mold their assets into, with all the bright, eclectic colors, fierce independence, and razor-sharp intelligence filled with boundless potential. A sigh swelled up from the pit of his lungs.

And then there was him.

Wren lifted a brow at him curiously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kallus replied. "I simply notice that the Empire failed to do to you what it has done to me. Forgive me if I'm somewhat envious."

Now Wren's brows shot up and vanished into her snow and lavender colored hair.

"What do you mean?"

He lifted an eyebrow himself. "Miss Wren, I can hardly think of anyone more independent or rebellious than you. You figured out the sins of the Empire much sooner than I did, and escaped it in time to still retain something of yourself. I was not so intelligent, and now I'm paying for that mistake. I let myself be turned into a cog in the Imperial machine. A weapon. There's hardly anything left now."

Wren gave him a quizzical look, as if he'd missed some great flaw in his argument before nodding to the piano.

"I'd say that's something you have left."

"This is whimsy," Kallus corrected quietly as he looked back at the piano, thinking of his failures and how far he'd fallen. "It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing to me when I was watching you play. Honestly, it looked like it was everything to you."

Kallus avoided her eyes, uncomfortable with how accurate her assessment had been, even if he would never say it.

"It's just music. Nothing more," Kallus pressed again.

"Which is why you're so protective of it?" she retorted gently. "If it was 'nothing more', you wouldn't care to hide it, or practice secretly like you do. It matters to you. I know it does."

Kallus chuckled. "Do you, now?"

"I'd say so," Wren replied. "It mattered to me when I left the Empire. My art, I mean. I used to hide it just like you are now. I was protective of it, and hyper critical of complements too."

Kallus stared at the Mandalorian curiously, unable to comprehend a world where Sabine Wren wasn't confident. Least of all in her art. She gave a wry smile.

"Hard to believe, I know. But it's true. I didn't trust anyone, and I wasn't as confident in myself after being used and betrayed like I was. Ketsu and the crew helped, but … well, it took a while, and I remember that. You shouldn't sell yourself short, or hide this part of you. I get that you might not think you're good enough, but I know the real reason why you don't want anyone to hear it."

"And that is?" Kallus asked, playing her game.

"Trust is hard," she replied easily, striking the matter on the proverbial nail. "And when you come from the Empire thinking you're only what it made out of you, something personal, like art … it's kind of sacred."

Kallus looked away, and though he was tempted to refute her claim on reflex, he found he could not bring himself to do it. To betray his music again with a prideful lie. Quietly he said, "Indeed, it is."

Wren's smile was kind, and she looked at one of the many colorful pieces of her art which littered the walls of the Ghost with vibrancy and life.

"You know, we all do it, once we join the crew. Hide something from everyone. That last bit we're afraid to share because it's too personal. But turns out it's kind of hard to hide it here. Have you found out yet that Kanan likes to sing in the fresher at the top of his lungs when he thinks no one's around?"

Kallus snorted. He had actually. The Jedi was so awful, it was amusing. But since everyone else only snickered and pretended not to hear, he did the same. Wren grinned.

"Zeb used to hide the fact that he prays to the Ashla at the start of every week before and after he goes to sleep," she continued. "He used to do it in the Phantom. It's only been recently that he's been more open about it."

"That's what he's been doing?" Kallus gaped. All this time he'd thought the Lasat just enjoyed speaking to himself in the dark whenever he went to bed on those days.

"That's what he's doing," Wren agreed. "Ezra used to steal food in the middle of the night and hoard it. It was months before we confronted him and broke him of the habit."

Given Bridger's past history, Kallus couldn't say he was all that surprised.

"And Captain Syndulla?"

The Mandalorian grinned. "Hera's perfect. No dirt to dish out on her. At least, none I've been able to dig up."

Kallus had thought as much, to be frank.

Wren gestured to the piano again. "But what you hide, at least it's pleasant. If you're worried the others are going to judge you for it, don't be. They won't."

Unable to stop himself, Kallus lifted a brow. "Bridger?"

"He'll only tease, if anything," Wren allowed. "But you're really good, Kallus. When you finally tell them—"

"If I tell them."

She ignored him. "—I doubt they'll do anything else besides ask you to keep playing."

Much as he sometimes idly played with the idea of telling the others, there hadn't been any real consideration. Now that he was actively thinking about it, there was some … appeal. Mostly because he wouldn't have to snatch at practice time if everyone knew. He could, in theory, play whenever he wanted. Really grow again as a pianist. But then they would know, and that thought alone made a tight knot develop in his chest.

"Besides," Wren carried on. "It's probably only a matter of time before the others find out anyway, if they don't already know. I mean, you're all living right on top of each other."

That tight knot in his chest twisted uneasily, because he had a sinking feeling the Mandalorian had a point. Careful as he was, he was well aware he wasn't perfect. He might slip one day, and what then?

Wren's eyes were knowing and bright as she gave him an encouraging look. "I know it's hard to trust them, but maybe it's worth it? I thought it was."

Taking a deep, contemplative breath, he looked at the piano and longing pinged in his chest. He could get so much better, play more, if he didn't have to hide. If he … exposed himself like that. Let them in.

Kallus let the breath slowly out, but the knot was still there.

"We shall see."

Her lips pulled into a smirk, and before the silence could descend between them, she leaned forward, interlacing her fingers. The smirk softened and he sensed a sift coming.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Wren asked. "It's a bit personal, and you don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

He snorted at her. They'd already talked about his music and his trust in the crew. What was she curious about now?

"I can hardly stop you."

"Why'd you leave the Empire?"

Kallus blinked, the question sobering him fast. That was an … unexpected turn of conversation. But personal as it was, in truth, he'd been waiting since he'd joined the crew for someone to ask. Captain Syndulla knew. She'd seen his reports. But Kanan had never asked, which Kallus suspected was for the same reason he didn't ask about the Jedi's own past. Zeb never asked for clarification, just accepted he'd been the catalyst for the change, and was proud that Kallus had switched sides. Even if Bridger had asked, he hardly thought he'd be honest with the boy. They still weren't on the best of terms, even if they weren't at each other's necks anymore.

But Sabine Wren had been the first to ask directly, and oddly enough, he felt inclined to give her an honest answer.

"I'm surprised Zeb didn't tell you."

"He told us that you worked together on that moon over Geonosis," Wren said. "That you talked. But when we found out you were Fulcrum, he was as surprised as the rest of us. And coming from the Empire myself, I know it takes a little more than a few pointed words to make someone leave. Let alone become a spy. So, what happened?"

"It was simple," Kallus replied, turning away from her to face the piano. He lifted the fallboard and stared at the white and black keys. "I merely … looked. Turned the skills of investigation the Empire had given me on itself. I did not like what I found." His gaze dropped as he weathered the uncomfortable caress of shame that slid through his body. "I did not like that I had let myself become so blind."

"So, guilt drove you to rebel?"

Kallus brushed his fingers over the keys but didn't press them. They were smooth, almost soft to his senses. Calming. Encouraging, even as he wanted to deny the truth. Lie.

"In part," he admitted. "I believe you more than anyone would understand what it feels like to believe in the Empire. What it stands for." Kallus let his fingers slip off the keys. "What it feels like to realize how deeply you've been used and lied to."

"Betrayed."

Kallus nodded. "I've done … terrible things, in the name of the Empire. In the name of peace and order. I think I always knew there was something wrong, but it's easier not to think for yourself, or question the hand that feeds you."

"And it's easier when everyone else is doing the same thing. Believing the same thing. Herd mentality," Wren added. "Yeah. I remember."

"Lasan … what I did to Zeb's people. What I allowed to happen there, and to others as well …." Kallus' words dried up, his throat tight as thoughts and memories shoved to the front of his mind. He still remembered the smell of charred flesh. Burning fur. Healthy foliage going up in flame, destroyed in the name of cold order. Back when he'd been in the Empire, those memories hadn't tormented him as much. He'd believed he'd done the right thing, even if it had come with a small side of revenge for what had happened on Onderon. It was as if believing in the Empire had locked those memories away in the back of his mind. Made him feel proud and triumphant of his work in keeping the galaxy safe.

Listening to Zeb, then taking a step back to actually see what he'd done, and why … it had unlocked those memories. Shown him how despicable the Empire was. How atrocious he himself had been.

Kallus had nightmares now. Frequently. He didn't sleep as much as he should, but then that was something of a vindictive comfort. Why should he sleep well, after what he'd done? Why should he find comfort in his dreams, when he did not deserve it? In many ways, the nightmares felt like penance. Penance he willingly submitted to.

A hand appeared on Kallus' shoulder, and when he looked at Wren, he saw the same weathered look in her eyes. The same guilt and pain he constantly hid away.

"I understand."

And that was all she offered. Understanding. No platitudes. No pity or compassion or pride at him having seen the errors of his ways. Just simple understanding. True understanding, between veterans who'd survived the same monster.

Kallus swallowed past the tight pull in his throat before he straightened and nodded. Wren's hand slipped away as she leaned back, but the companionable trust lingered.

"I became a spy to help atone for my actions as an Imperial agent," he finally said. "Then I rebelled because it was the right thing to do."

She gave him a small smile.

"And how are you adjusting?"

Kallus stared at her, surprised by her second unexpected question. It was turning out that this Mandalorian was a secret whirlwind, it seemed. After all this soul-bearing he'd submitted to this far, it was almost surprising to him that it was now his pride rose. He looked away.

"Well enough," Kallus said stoically. "I do what I can to support the crew and the rebellion to the best of my ability."

"Well that's a weak and ambiguous answer if I've ever heard one," Wren said pointedly, lifting an eyebrow. "I know what you're doing, because I did it to. I did it first. I know what it's like not to have someone to talk to. Someone who gets it. Kallus, I get it. How are you adjusting."

Kallus took a long, slow breath as he arranged his thoughts, forcing his stubborn pride aside. If it had been anyone else on the crew, he would have denied there was a difference. What did it matter how he was adjusting, when what mattered was the support he provided?

But Sabine Wren, despite her age, did understand. It was in her maturity, the haunted, pained look that crept into her eyes, and her professionalism and dedication to doing the right thing. To making sure she wasn't used again.

Just like him.

"I … don't know," he finally breathed, letting some of his more personal concerns slip out. "I know this was the correct decision and I don't regret it. I know the limitations on me will lift with time. But sometimes … I feel as if there is no way I can hope to atone for what I've done." His voice quieted and he sighed heavily. "That, despite all the decisions and willingness and change, I will only ever be that weapon the Empire made me into. Nothing more. And that it's only a matter of time before everyone sees that."

"Imposter's syndrome?"

Kallus chuckled darkly. "I'd say so."

The smile she gave him was filled with companionable understanding.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you're in the right place. If there's anywhere you can change into something new, it's here." The Mandalorian looked around the galley with soft eyes. "The Ghost and this crew … well, I've always thought of it as a forge of sorts. Broken things come in, and what comes out?" She shrugged. "Who knows? But it's always been something good."

"And if this forge cannot change me?" Kallus wondered.

Wren grinned brightly. "Don't you see you've already changed?"

Kallus stared at her in confusion, at a loss for words. While he gaped like a buffoon, she slowly stood and turned toward the cabins.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to dig like I did. I just … I know what it's like to come from the Empire and have nothing and no one. You're a part of the crew and the rebellion, and I know I'm way younger than you and I've been a thorn in your side for years now—"

"A particularly irksome one, I assure you."

Wren grinned. "But I wanted to be there for you like I wish someone had been there for me. I'm sorry if you feel as if I overstepped my boundaries."

Kallus snorted softly, even as he shook his head.

"I'm sure you'd have broken through them anyway."

"Probably. Also, one last thing. I never got to thank you for getting me, Wedge, and Hobbie out of Skystrike." Wren lifted her chin, her brown eyes alight. "Thanks Kallus."

He continued to stare, again unsure what to say. He'd been thanked by everyone on the crew for becoming a double agent and risking his life. Doing what he could for them on Atollon. But this was the first time he'd been thanked and it had felt so personal. Where the gratitude was palpable. That, coupled with everything she'd said since she'd first heard his music … he was unexpectedly moved.

Kallus ignored the slight tightness in his voice when he spoke. "You're welcome, Sabine."

The Mandalorian gave him a knowing, one-sided grin before she stood and turned for the cabins.

"I'll leave you alone now, let you get back to your music. I'll even make myself scarce and go back to my room. You can pretend I'm even not around, if you want."

Kallus smirked and shook his head at her. After baring himself like he had, it hardly mattered to him if she listened or not. Still, he faced the piano while he waved her away with a hand.

"Go on then. Be gone." He looked over his shoulder. "Though please let me know if you'd like me to stop."

Wren rolled her eyes at him, but there was a pleased smirk on her lips. "Just play, Kallus."

For a few moments, Kallus sat in the quiet after her departure, thinking about everything she had said and the expected trust he'd shown her. He'd been with the crew for months now, and had he opened up to them as much as he had with just one conversation with Wren? No.

But shouldn't he? They trusted him enough to leave him alone now. Maybe he should start showing them some trust as well? And … really. What was the worst that could happen? Perhaps some ridicule, but at least he could play openly then, despite how they took it.

Kallus lightly caressed the black and white ivory before him, then pressed the keys with care, slowly calling forth an old sonata from his youth. As he did, he let his mind wander. Play with the idea of sharing and trust as he sank into his music and was swept away.

Kallus pressed his fingers into his brow as the rest of the crew grinned at him with varying levels of approval and amusement from where he sat at the piano bench. He'd been so caught up in the music and his thoughts that, by the time he looked up again, he'd had a full audience.

Complete with thunderous applause.

"Did everyone know I played?" Kallus demanded.

"Of course we did," Bridger said. "Why do you think I've been pressing random keys for the last month? Before you got here I forget we even had that thing."

Kallus glowered.

"Now that you know we all knew, I'll have to insist you play more," Captain Syndulla said, her smile kind and uplifting. "It's nice to know it's getting proper attention, and by someone who can actually play it. If you did play for us, it'll be better than anything we've had over the comms in years."

"I thought you liked what I put on the comms," Kanan said, and Captain Syndulla shrugged.

"Only because there was no alternative."

"Do you take requests?" Bridger asked, snatching up the datapad that had displayed Kallus' music. A moment later it was shoved back in his face. "Can you play this?"

"This is little more than a cacophonous collection of notes thrown together with no sensible rhythm," Kallus bit out, shoving the music away. "If I play anything, it's the classics!"

"Well, what about this one?"

Zeb snickered. "Kid, I doubt that's what Kallus has in mind when he says 'classics'."

"It most certainly is not."

Bridger tried again with another piece, and Kallus rolled his eyes. Wren chuckled from the other side of the room with the rest of them, and he resisted the contagious sound of it as the tight knot in his chest at having been finally found out loosened before vanishing entirely.

A/N: So what did you all think? The idea of Kallus playing piano has been a head-canon of mine for a while now, and I hope you liked the direction I took with it, and with Sabine. It was certainly a … journey to write, but I hope it was enjoyable :]

I have a challenge for you fanartists. I would love to see pictures of Kallus playing space-piano. Like. I'd adore that. Could you all maybe make pictures for me, if you're inspired/have the time? I've had it in my head for a while now, and I'm not a great visual artist myself. I don't know if it's presumptuous of me to request (and if so, apologies), but I'd be over the moon for pictures like that. No pressure to anyone, just throwing it out there.

Now I bet you're curious about who's next, since the series isn't quite done yet. It's Zeb. For those of you who wondered if the first chapter was also Zeb's chapter, nope. That was Kallus' own chapter. Next one's a nice chat with Zeb. There might be booze involved.

Anyway, a great place to keep up with me and my stories is on my tumblr. Till next time!