Ezra, hadn't taken an instant dislike to Lando Calrissian; the hard feelings had come later. With his sly manner, perfectly coiffured thick, dark hair and smooth manner, Calrissian had worked his cloying charm, trying to suck Sabine in. Bile rose unbidden in Ezra. The gambler's broad shoulders, and deep voice sparked another frisson of jealousy. Ezra never wanted to see him again. Or, to be more precise, he never wanted the scoundrel setting his eyes on Sabine ever again. Smiling so seductively in her face. He'd been so glib, plying her with his silky compliments, praising her artwork. His touting how 'gifted, inspiring,' and 'resourceful' she was had left a bad taste in Ezra. At one point, Ezra had thought that Lando's tongue might actually fall out, scurry to Sabine and literally pat her on the back. The green-eyed monster blazed in Ezra's sad eyes.

Hopping off his bunk, the orphan positioned himself smack in front of the same mirror he'd been inspecting himself in for several weeks now. The cream she'd given him—wow. It had worked, exactly the way she had said it would. And so fast, too. No hint of damage spoiled his face. Not a trace, as though the stormtrooper had never mercilessly ripped into his skin with his energized glove. Ezra traced the healed flesh, not as gingerly as he'd done while healing had progressed, with his fingertips. Still awed, he marveled how Sabine's freaky cream had certainly done the trick! He'd never understand how if he lived to be 200. He relished having had Sabine so close to his face when she applied the cream. He wondered, coming to the conclusion that now since he had healed, the end of her using his face as her canvas was sure to follow. Logically, she'd have no reason to continue the routine. She'd humored him, he understood. Toying with the idea that had a way of staying with him, maybe self-mutilation was the way to go to keep her attention on him where it belonged.

The more he thought about taking a sharp object to his left cheek, the more he realized he was thinking crazy. In a twinkling, he was sifting these tight quarters for anything razor-pointy. A cold, clammy pain tugged at his heart. Look at what he was resorting to…

"Ezra!"

Jarred from his sullen reverie, the teenage Lothal rebel juddered to a halt. As though caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. "Yeah?" Ezra growled, clearly annoyed because Kanan had messed up his dismal search. His master sounded touchy. He often came across that way, like everything got under his skin.

"Another training session. Usual place. Get here now."

Rolling his eyes, Ezra got moving. Defacing his face would have to wait. Training was important. If he hoped to impress Sabine in any way imaginable, he needed to distinguish himself as a Jedi. Awareness that showing off went against the Jedi code rippled through him. He shrugged it off. Whatever it took. The memory of how brightly her eyes had lit up as she'd hung on every word Lando had spoken played before his glowering countenance. The man had womanizer written all over him.

"Ezra!"

"Coming, Master," he fired back, snatching up his one-of-a-kind stylized lightsaber and rushed out of his quarters as though the Emperor himself were on his tail. The sharpness in Kanan's voice might have taken down a Bantha. Ezra ran faster.

"There isn't much time," Kanan reminded him.

"I know. I know." Whatever awaited them on Mudraya would likely call for Ezra being at his best. His skill was increasing; he merely lacked sufficient confidence to let go, wholly surrendering himself to the Force. Trusting it unreservedly. But never succumbing to the impure Dark Side. He needed to be more like Kanan, who was a versatile master, but getting all of it right was hard. Ezra reproached himself for lacking proper discipline, but his master was all too ready and willing to help him attain the requisite self-control.

"You need all the practice you can get," Kanan counseled, his voice spreading about Ezra like netting. "Time's a wasting. You've much too much to learn, still."

"I'm on my way," Ezra claimed, picking up more speed as he sped.

So far, some practice sessions had been better than others. Right now, Ezra's mind was on winning Sabine. What did he need to practice in order to succeed with that? Maybe he should have paid more attention to Lando's wheedling 'rap.' If sugary-sweet fawning was what she wanted, he'd give it to her. At least he would try.

Nipping at the back of his mind was Yoda's beloved principle, forever reminding him: 'Do, or do not. There is no try…'

The little green clawed one's motto tended to dampen the kid's spirits instead of bolstering them. Yoda, the Jedi Master nonpareil, knew precisely how to put goals out there. How one reached said goals was purely subjective. Bridger was determined to use everything he'd learned from the streets coupled with what Kanan was teaching him about the Force, to put a big crimp in the Empire's style of ruthless rule. And, hopefully, win Sabine's heart in the process.

Moving akin to light-speed, Ezra blindly rounded a corner. The insides of Hera's ship seemed to be a labyrinth in disguise, what with its narrow twisting and turning corridors. In less than a second too late to be fully aware of what was happening, he slammed into Sabine, broadside. As resilient as the pert Mandalorian was, Wren was more surprised than hurt. Partially bowled over to the deck, she sprang right back up from a crouch. She wasn't ready to do battle, but her eyes had a bellicose twinkle in them. Expertly, they alighted on Ezra, holding his aghast face intently. His facial expression conveyed horror. The very person who meant the galaxy to him he'd nearly flattened into pulp.

"What's your hurry?"

Sounding out of breath and widening his eyes, Ezra replied, "Kanan's waiting for me."

"More practice?" Sabine asked knowingly.

"Yeah. He wants me seriously ready for whatever we'll face on Mudraya. I want to be ready. I can't let him down." Ezra weighed whether he should add, 'I can't let you down.' All of them, Kanan, Hera, Zeb, even Chopper, had become his family. He didn't want to disappoint any of them. Why was he tongue-tied all of a sudden? His tongue, as though endowed with a will of its own, prevented him from tipping the emotion in his heart. He felt he was unraveling. "I, I…" No; the words wouldn't come.

Sensing his hesitation, Sabine did something he never saw coming. She said something too. Plucking his lightsaber from his hand, she put him on notice. "I like what you've done with your energy blade's handgrip. But…well." She looked directly into her avid admirer's spellbound eyes, dead-set about what she wanted. Ezra, growing hotter under the collar by the second, was melting in his clothes. If he had wanted to say anything, he certainly couldn't utter a syllable now. Confusion suffused his face. "This fancy haft cries out for embellishment," Sabine coquettishly cajoled. She rolled her scintillating eyes and it was priceless. A holdover she'd picked up from Lando, perhaps?

"It does?" Ezra blinked as though he'd just woken up. "Embellishment?" It was hard hearing over the deafening, savage pounding of his doting heart.

Sabine grinned. This kid… He often got so lost in his own aggressive fog sometimes. She was glad he'd decided to join them. There was something about this intense young man. Something he possessed, which she couldn't name presently. And no, it wasn't because he was Force-sensitive, diligently applying himself to learn its ways. Would she allow herself to get to know him better? Maybe. She'd see.

Of course Ezra knew what embellishment meant. He wasn't backwards, nor feeble-minded. Sabine had purposely made the context ambiguous. Not mincing words, she clarified what she was getting at. "May I—"

"Yes!" Ezra spate so fast, he flushed. Whatever she wanted was a good idea. How could it not be? This was Sabine.

"You have no idea what I want," she goaded, testing him, bewildering him with her sirenic lips.

When he was able to snap back to reality, he thought…True enough. He sighed inaudibly. Give me the chance to find out, he whispered to himself, astounded that they were having this conversation. He felt Kanan being a heartbeat away from giving up on him this day. If Ezra's heart was set on being a no-show, so be it. Kanan would be a no-way for practice today, if that's how the kid wanted it.

If this exchange with Sabine trumped the training session, then it was what it was. He'd have such a stern talk with Ezra tomorrow, the kid would never ditch another session ever again…

"Tell me what you want then?" Ezra prompted, leading her gently.

Hefting his lightsaber between both her hands, she demanded: "My artwork on your Jedi handicraft. To symbolize where you've been—and what you're destined to become."

In no seconds flat, Ezra's answer resounded throughout the Ghost.

"YES!"

"Now you've kept Kanan waiting long enough, by his grunts of complaint, echoing all through the ship."

"When? When do you want to start?" Bridger sounded like a little kid waiting on a parent's permission.

"Right away. After practice?"

Ezra watched her return his lightsaber, mesmerized. Nodding hard as he sprinted away, he reiterated with his eyes still fully on her, "YES!"

"Watch where you're going!" Primly, Sabine regarded him streaking off; a subtle smile playing on her lips. "Heartbreaker," she mumbled, already formulating the design, the textures and hues she planned to use. What she had in mind would be her greatest artisanship yet. Lovingly done...

For Ezra.