I AM NOT DEAD! Surprising, right? I am too.

Got the idea for this partially from Bon Jovi's Livin On A Prayer, which now lives on my Spotify playlist.-RebelliousWaffle

Ezra crinkled his nose at the acidic smell of the cleaning fluid. It wafted down the hallway from Sabine's open door, so pungent it was almost touchable.

She had taken her signature blasters apart entirely. The tibanna gas cartridges lay at the top of the workbench. The composite grip was in four different pieces, going from silver to gunmetal grey. A pipe cleaner showed signs of use, likely because of the barrel of the pistols. The trigger assembly was in almost fifteen different bits. The 'shell' of the gun had been removed and taken apart into three painted pieces. Sabine herself was busily working on reassembling the firing system of one of the pistols, brow furrowed in concentration as she worked on a particularly tricky part of the rebuild.

"That time already?"

Sabine might have even jumped at the sound of his voice. Thankfully, she had just finished the reassembly of the firing system- otherwise, she might have remade it simply to shoot Ezra.

"Ezra, next time you see a Mandalorian cleaning her guns, do not interrupt unless you really want to die."

"Guess we're even, after the last time you barged in on me meditating."

"You're still not over that?" Sabine sounded exasperated.

Ezra just shrugged. "In my defense, meditation is a lot easier to mess up."

"Really? Well, you try reassembling one of these, and I'll go meditate," Sabine threatened jokingly. Ezra held his hands up in a pacifying gesture.

"I never said I could do a Mandalorian meditation-"

"Mandalorian meditation? It's called a weapons check, loth-rat."

"Loth-rat? My pride curses you, Wren."

Sabine sat back in her chair and folded her arms. "Ezra, your pride lost the ability to speak from Day One when I had to pull you out of my seat."

"I had just gotten on fifteen minutes ago, dorsal gunner."

Sabine looked as if she was about to contest the point before she shrugged. "Well, if you're done here, I have a gun to make."

Shouldn't you be doing push-ups, then? was Ezra's tounge-in-cheek response. Sabine cast a dark glance at him.

"Is that a challenge, noodle-arms?"

"Oh, you are asking for it," Ezra responded. "I bet I can do more push-ups than you. Two duty shifts I can."

"Alright, then. Let's go. Right now, Bridger!" Sabine called. "Two duty shifts I can do more than you."

"You are so going to lose," Ezra said, getting into plank position. Sabine joined next to him on the floor.

"One," they said together, as they did the first push-up.

"Two."

"Three."

They continued like this until almost a hundred fifty-nine. By this point, both of them were shaking with exertion and their palms were slipping- but neither would quit.

"One-sixty," they said, together, as always.

"One-sixty-one."

"One-sixty-two."

"One-sixty-three."

"One-sixty-fourrrrrrr!"

On what would've been one-sixty-four, Sabine's palm slipped, and she crashed into Ezra's arm, who went tumbling with her. Ezra landed facedown on top of Sabine, much to the confusion of Kanan, who had just entered the room.

"Uh… do you two need a moment?" he asked, smirking.

Sabine and Ezra extricated themselves from each other and knelt back, before beginning to laugh heartily- so much so, when Hera asked what was wrong, Kanan simply said, "The kids are laughing way more than is healthy for them."

"So? Force knows they need it. We all do."

"Really? That's your view on this, Hera?"

Hera nodded, gently.

"So… have you ever heard the one about the bantha and the mynock?"