Out of the growing collection of people that could have asked, it surprised and amused Sabine to no end that it was Ezra that first questioned her similarity to the clones. She supposed that Kanan, in his dislike for old Republic soldiers, had opted to ignore most everything about them, while the other Rebels were simply too busy to be intrigued by the Mandolorian and her clone counterparts.

Ahsoka Tano, still steeped in the mystery that was the organised rebellion, who Rex still called commander, and who seemed like an unbreakable data code, had given her several pointed looks, but had said nothing. Whether or not she knew the truth of Sabine's parentage remained unknown. Trying to discern the former Jedi Togruta's thoughts was like trying to get a smile from an Imperial Moff.

It was during one of the calmer periods of hyperspace travel on the Ghost, where other rebels had shuffled off to their own transports, and even Rex and his small crew had been brought aboard Tano's main blockade runner for a debriefing, that silence instilled itself over the remaining crew.

The silence had been perfect for concentrating and after three hours of intense painting, Sabine was precariously balanced on a chair, adding the final finishing touches to her latest piece. After working non-stop for so long, she was beginning to regret choosing the ceiling as her canvas.

Scrubbing at the paint particles that had stuck to her goggles and breathing heavily through a mask, Sabine gripped her paint gun tightly and concentrated on getting those final few details just right.

It was of course at that very inopportune moment that the door she knew she locked slid open to reveal a sheepish looking Ezra. Sabine glanced his way long enough to see him tuck his electric wrench into his pocket.

She scoffed at Jedi ingenuity and went back to her painting. "Mask," she called out, though Ezra didn't need the warning.

He grabbed one off of her dresser and looked up, appraising her work for a moment.

"So, what is so important you felt the need to break into my room?" Sabine gave him a pointed glare. Ezra rubbed the back of his head with his free hand and didn't meet her gaze.

"For the record, I did try knocking-"

"I doubt that."

Ezra scoffed. "Well, that's your opinion…Anyway, I had something really important to ask you, but it might sound a little weird, so just bear with me!" He took a breath and Sabine stopped her painting to wait.

She watched Ezra shift from foot to foot, but the Jedi-in-training said nothing, "Are you going to ask me or-"

"Was your father a clone?"

Sabine pushed her paint-splattered goggles up, causing her short cropped hair to fan out on her forehead, "Ezra, I really thought we were beyond weird pickup lines."

"What? No!" Ezra spluttered and a red blush creeped up his neck. Sabine laughed and hopped off her chair. She took the cartridge out of her paint gun and exchanged it for another.

Ezra watched her movements and thought of what to say. "I just meant…well, you look like them – the clones, I mean – and, I don't know, maybe it's a Jedi thing, but you all are so similar." He shook his head, unsure of how to continue without insulting her again.

Sabine rolled her eyes and put her paint gun down. She opened one of the drawers of her dresser and began rummaging through a mess of what Ezra recognised as old datapads and data cards, spare bomb parts, holodisks and whatever else the teenage girl had crammed in there.

"Plus there's the whole Mandolorian thing…" Ezra trailed off as he watched Sabine pull an old holodisc from the mess of her drawer. Satisfied with what she had found, Sabine tossed it over to him without so much of a warning.

"And this is?" The disc was an older, pre-Empire holo-image projector. Ezra turned it around in his hand several times, but found nothing remarkable about it.

"Your answer."

Realising his stupidity, Ezra turned it on.

The image was a little grainy due to the age of the projector, but Ezra could still tell what it was. A grinning man, hair cropped to old Republic military standard with a number five tattooed on his forehead, held a fussy-looking baby. Ezra had never meant a clone save for the three that recently joined their crew, but it was easy to imagine that this is what those three had looked like in their youths.

"So you're saying," Ezra gestured to the image. "This is what you looked like as a baby?"

"Ezra!"

Um...yeah.

I probably have three or four more little chapters that I'll put up. If anyone wants to give some prompts that would be cool.

Thanks to all of my reviewers and everyone who followed/faved. Your appreciation is appreciated :D

Until next time then.