He found that he enjoyed kitchen duty. Although most of the meals were simple affairs, ration bars with hot mugs of tea or caf, the crew liked to have a cooked meal at dinner together. Ezra was usually paired with Hera as Kanan and Sabine were frankly incompetent chefs and Zeb, who still had little tolerance for the boy, did not do well with another cook in the kitchen.

It still felt wrong to go into the food storage unit, and see it full of provisions. He had to make a conscious decision to not fill his pockets, or hoard ration bars in his backpack (he had no wish to discover their reaction if they caught him reverting to his old habits).

Instead, he reassured himself each day that food was coming, that Hera, a sucker for hard luck cases, wouldn't let any of the others cut him off, that if he really needed he could leave whenever he wanted.

Hera was a good cook. In possession of an unusual talent for making their meager supplies last, she would make something out of nothing, putting together wholesome meals with the sparse ingredients available. And on the few good weeks when they were flush with fresh produce paid with whatever job they had pulled, they would feast on Twi'lek dishes, recipes that Ezra had learned were passed down from generation to generation.

Still on a mission to make up for his less than ideal diet on the streets, she was always finding excuses for him to taste test dishes, or to eat leftovers so they wouldn't go to waste. While he had felt wary at first of taking more than his share, she had made it very difficult for him to say no without appearing rude. After a while, he grew used to it and usually went along with whatever she commanded, as it was generally easier that way.

He found her company very relaxing, as she put him at ease in a way that the others didn't. Zeb brought out the worst in him, Sabine still terrified and intrigued him, and Kanan seemed to have an unnerving ability to see right through him.

She would hum strange melodies as she stirred soup or rolled dough, sometimes softly saying a foreign language under her breath. He had learned early on that she would stop if he asked about it, and so he kept silent, taking in the soothing sound of her voice.

He knew by know that she loved Ryloth and her culture, but some cloud seemed to hang over her whenever it was mentioned. It stirred an old anger in her, one that she would not talk about. That was no problem for him; he certainly had his own share of things he'd rather not discuss and he wasn't sure how he would handle it if the kind young woman ever did decide to let him in on her past.

"That's it, just a bit more water. And start the heat on the third burner."

He hastened to obey, tipping some water into his mixture and turning a knob on the small stove. Wiping his hands on his ratty apron, he turned to the Twi'lek.

"What now?"

She smiled wickedly at him.

"Now you get to see why I made you find that meiloorun yesterday."

After washing the fruit and wiping it clean, she began to expertly cut it into small pieces. He observed her skill with admiration, watching her quick hands at work.

"Did you ever cook with your family?"

Ezra froze, not anticipating such a direct question after days of her carefully tiptoeing around the subject of his parents. He shrugged his shoulders, calming the alarming staccato beat of his heart.

"Yeah, a little bit, I guess."

She paused, considering him with her large, green eyes. There was a world of sadness in her gaze, like an old wound that still ached.

"Sometimes… sometimes it's alright to remember the good things about our past, even if it didn't end so well. It's okay to treasure those memories and hold them close without keeping the bad ones too."

He looked down, and eventually nodded his grudging assent, not trusting his voice at that moment. There was a strained silence in the kitchen as they both recalled the ghosts of their pasts. After long moments, Hera cleared her throat loudly.

"Pass me that bowl."

Dinner that night was better than usual. Hera had made one of her staple soups, along with handmade flat bread and a salad made of fresh Lothal produce. While delicious, everyone agreed the best part was dessert.

Hera had wrapped the meiloorun slices in a thin pie dough and had baked them into five tiny little tarts, one for each of the crew. After they had emptied their plates (and Ezra had eaten three bowls of soup), she brought out the tasty little creations and the crew eyed them appreciatively.

"In appreciation for your efforts yesterday," she said, giving Zeb and Ezra a wry smile (though she had given them a good dressing down the day before).

The two of them looked at each other conspiratorially, thinking of all the things that occurred yesterday including what they had really done with that TIE fighter. Sabine politely accepted her tart, and nibbled away at it delicately. Kanan, for his part, nodded his thanks to Hera, looking less than amused at Zeb and Ezra's obvious lack of remorse for the previous day's antics.

Avoiding that reproachful gaze, Ezra took a bite of his tart. It was both sweet and sour, and utterly unfamiliar. Regardless, he couldn't help but remember previous meals with a very different group of individuals: his mother's high laugher ringing through the air, hands fingering their way through his hair, a warm voice asking him what he had done at school that day.

For once, he didn't immediately shy away from the memory, instead letting a small smile steal across his features. While he had been lost in thought, Zeb had said something humorous or unintelligent (or perhaps both, he thought with a smirk), and Sabine released a snorting laugh. Even the impassable Kanan was grinning as the crew finished off their dessert while the Lasat recalled a humorous anecdote from before Ezra's time on the Ghost.

Not finding the words to be particularly important, Ezra didn't attempt to follow the story. Instead, he simply basked in the warm glow of the crew's contentment, even as they talked late into the night.

While I am by no means a talented cook, family recipes are very special to me. Some of my best memories are of spending Thanksgiving with my enormous extended family. Also, I know that the Ghost is in space (duh), and so they don't really have night per say, but I'm just rolling with them using Lothal time (since they seem to be there half the time anyway) and the crew setting their schedule accordingly. On a more serious note, while it's been pretty windy where I am, the storm hasn't affected us too much (though I did experience some alarm this weekend when I went out of town to celebrate a friend's birthday and was informed by a police patrol that an inmate on a work crew had escaped from a nearby prison. It felt like the beginning of a bad movie: a group of friends stay at their isolated country home during inclement weather, not knowing a prison convict is on the loose nearby. We survived). Thanks so much for reading and please let me know what you think!