Sometimes he snuck out at night just to prove that he could still leave whenever he wanted.

He would prowl the streets, watching increased Imperial patrols, avoiding old acquaintances, and breathing in the stink of poorly filtered factory pollution, unwashed bodies and spice.

It was home, messy and harsh but reassuringly familiar.

Seeing the streets of Lothal in all their sordid, unkept glory had really driven home how starkly different life on the ship was. Ezra had noticed that they were pretty careful about what they let on board the Ghost, especially regarding the younger members. No alcohol, no smoking, and absolutely never ever any spice. No swearing seemed to apply exclusively to him (Hera had strongly urged him to reconsider his present course of action after he had let loose at Chopper about a week ago).

It irked him that they seemed to think if they didn't say anything he would remain an innocent kid in their minds. He often felt like he was acting out a pretty story where the street kid could come on board and pretend that the last seven years didn't happen. Especially around Hera, he felt obliged to play along, not revealing his intimate knowledge with all the vices of the streets. Boy, could he make heads roll with some of the stuff he had seen.

Even after he felt secure in his ability to move as he pleased, he would still slip away to any number of his hidey-holes, either on or off the Ghost, if he felt the need to avoid prying eyes or unwanted judgment. Despite his newfound crew, he still felt very much like a solo operation and often needed time to himself, to think and unwind, if nothing else.

He was in the air vents. Working with Zeb could be a nightmare, as he felt compelled to supply snappy comments to keep the Lasat at bay when all he wanted to do was hide in a corner where no one cared what he said or did. Exhausted from maintaining a defensive front, he had fled to the one place he knew the others could not follow.

He wasn't sure why he felt the need to respond combatively to the Lasat. Every exchange was a battle of wills and smart comebacks, an escalating conflict which he didn't know how to defuse. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Although he had a better relationship with most of the other crew members, it was still very difficult to not act defensively to every perceived offense and rebuke.

It was far easier to assume that they were judging him and automatically dismiss their words than it was to sort the fallout of the realization that they might genuinely care.

They had been good to him, he couldn't deny that. Despite his belligerent attitude, they had all made efforts to make him a part of the crew. As the days slipped by, he allowed himself to become accustomed to their ways and methods. Maybe this would work out. Maybe he would stay.

There was still a significant part of him that whispered doubts in his ear, especially at night, when his mind found fault with even the happiest of memories.. Everything fell apart, everyone was flawed, and nothing stayed good for long. If the crew didn't tire of him and he actually stayed long enough to become attached, well…

He honestly didn't know what was worse. They were actively defying the Empire. That would eventually catch up with them and he didn't know if he could survive losing anyone else.

Ezra knew he should leave now, before he got in too deep. That would be the smart decision, the one that he would never have hesitated to make before, except…

Except he was happy here. And he wanted to stay.

It was a terrifying realization that in such a short time he had become so accustomed, no, so dependent on seeing the crew each morning, talking with them, eating with them, training with Kanan.

Realizing that the others might be wondering what had become of him and not wanting any of them discovering his little hidey-hole, he sighed, running a hand through his hair, and then began to shimmy forward toward the vent cover. After carefully removing it, he slid out and landed lightly on the floor, barely making a sound. He replaced the cover and headed toward the hallway, stopping at the sound of soft voices. Hera and Kanan, he thought.

"Hera, have you seen Ezra?"

"He was working with Zeb in the engine room about a half hour ago, but they both were running each other ragged, so I let them off for the afternoon."

"Hm."

Ezra cringed, seeing the older man's reproving expression in his mind's eye.

"Kanan?"

Hera's voice was subdued and a bit hopeful, and Ezra found himself leaning forward.

"Yeah?"

"Ezra… he's a good kid. A bit rough around the edges, but a really good kid."

Kanan's response was so softly spoken he had to strain his ears to catch it.

"Yeah, he is that."

What? From Kanan, that was unexpected. Shaking his head, he shoved the thought to the back of his mind. He found himself doing that a lot lately, not wanting to examine the things in his life that just didn't add up.

"I need to send a comm. Good luck finding him."

"Thanks," came the wry reply, the warm voice back to its usual blend of weary exasperation and amusement.

After waiting until Hera's footsteps carried her out of the hallway toward the cockpit, he stepped around the corner, causing Kanan to turn to face him, his calm expression belying the fact that he had complimented Ezra only moments before.

"Where have you been?"

Ezra shrugged noncommittally.

"About."

He could tell his master was underwhelmed by that response as he received Kanan's signature eye brow raise for his trouble. There was something oddly reassuring about the now-familiar expression.

"Really? Too busy to get some training in?"

Suppressing a smile, Ezra shook his head. Kanan gave him one last look, then turned and walked off.

"Well, come on then."

Ezra followed him, having to walk quickly to match Kanan's long strides. He'd stay, for now.

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