Heyyyyy everyone, I'm back! Here's another one-shot!
Ezra
Ezra stood in front of the mirror like it had personally betrayed him, repeatedly trying to figure out how the tux was supposed to look, trying and failing to fix his hair into something refined.
Sabine stood casually in the doorway, watching him struggle.
"You ready, kid, or…?"
"I'm ready," Ezra muttered irritably, following her with a very grumpy expression.
"Your hair's a little messy…" Sabine trailed off, shaking her head.
Ezra groaned.
Hera smirked as they walked out, Ezra in his 'snazzy' tux and Sabine in a long, skin tight, glittering black dress.
She at least got to be pretty.
Ezra knew he looked ridiculous.
"I look like a bantha in a tux," he muttered.
"You're not wrong," Sabine smirked.
Hera
"Well, how are my two fake lovers? Ready to go be heroes? Or should I say, party-goers?" Hera teased.
"Remind me why they're doing this instead of us, again?" Kanan growled.
"Because we're too obvious!" Hera scoffed.
"It's a gala. Full of rich Imperial people. The fallen Jedi and the Twi'lek who aren't that well known, or the wanted Padawan who calls himself Jabba the Hutt in front of Imperials and the Mandolorian girl who has paint all over her half the time—both with colorful hair! It'll never work with them," Kanan argued.
Hera smiled, eyes twinkling. "I have to fly the ship."
She almost added, "and they have to fly theirs. Their romantic one."
"You could let one of us do that some of the time, you know," Zeb grumbled from the corner.
"And let you crash my ship into a black hole? I don't think so," Hera said, arms crossed and smirking at Zeb, who shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender.
"Let's just go," Sabine smirked, looking like a girl who'd won the lottery.
"You're enjoying this way too much," Kanan muttered.
"It's a mission! We go in, pose as a rich couple, casual, cool, then we blow it up! It's easy!" Sabine scoffed.
"Easy for you to say. You went to the Academy," Ezra grumbled, "I was a street rat! What do you expect me to do, just act like I'm some rich jerk who hangs out with Imp—"
Hera cut him off. "I expect you to follow Sabine's lead. She's in charge of this one."
"What?" Ezra gasped. "Traitors."
"Ha! Yeah right, like you could do it. I've done fine on missions before. It's you who messes them up," Sabine accused.
"Last time, we ran into your lovely friend. What was her name again? The Black Sun psycho girl." Ezra reminded her.
"Ketsu," Sabine huffed, "and we got out fine—"
Hera took it upon herself to interrupt the teenagers again. "JUST GO. You're going to be late! And Ezra, fix that hair before you embarrass yourself any further."
Ezra let out an exaggerated groan. "I'm trying!" he whined, still fidgeting with his bowtie like it was a puzzle that wouldn't fit.
Sabine's smile widened at his discomfort, and as she turned to leave, she couldn't seem to resist one last jab. "I'msurethis will be a night to remember. Just try to keep it together, kid."
Hera just smiled, looking over at Kanan. "Thirty credits they'll flirt and bicker the whole thing."
"I would never bet on something we all know will happen," he responded, shaking his head.
Zeb cackled, patting Chopper on the head. "Sixty he'll embarrass himself."
"We all know that will happen, too," everyone said simultaneously.
Sabine
The gala buzzed with life and color, yet it was somehow dull and cold.
That was how the Empire rolled, Sabine had learned.
And she loathed the Empire for it.
She wanted to cover every inch of the frivolous ballroom in graffiti, in colorful symbols and rebellious reminders that they can't control everyone and everything.
There's always hope.
"This is the itchiest thing I've ever worn," Ezra muttered.
"You think that's bad? Mine has sequins, Bridger. Sequins," Sabine scoffed, gliding (as smoothly as possible in way-too-high-heels) across the ballroom, practically dragging him along.
"I'm sure this is exactly how you pictured your first dance," Sabine continued, smirking at him.
"Oh, absolutely. Pretending to be an Imperial and fake dating a cool girl? Absolutely what I pictured," Ezra huffed.
Sabine didn't stop, but her heart sure did. "You think I'm cool?"
"I mean…yeah, obviously."
"Right, obviously," Sabine confirmed as coolly as she could…but her heart had finally continued beating—at two-million beats per minute.
Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool, PLAY IT COOL, WREN! Her brain hissed.
"Did you ever do this kind of thing, like, you know, at the Academy?" He asked obliviously.
Sabine snorted at the thought. "Of course not. Imperial or not, it was Mandalorians. We don't dance."
He gave a cocky grin. "You do now."
"Ugh," Sabine muttered.
Ezra
Ezra watched her smooth movements—he couldn't help it.
She was an excellent dancer, deny it as she might.
Where she had learned, Ezra could only wonder.
Maybe she'd taught herself.
Or maybe Mandalorians really did dance…
He had to stifle a laugh at the vision his mind painted of Mandalorians slow dancing or free-styling.
He shook himself, trying to focus on the mission at hand.
"How much longer?" He hissed.
Sabine's 'regal' smile didn't move. "Only a little while," she said coolly. "It's set."
"Woah, how'd you do it so fast? I assumed you hadn't even planted it yet!" Ezra blurted.
Duh. The Imperials are everywhere! How could I say something like that here?
"It's a beautiful tree, honestly. I had servants plant it yesterday," Sabine said smoothly.
For a second, Ezra was confused. "Wait—wha—"
She held up a gloved hand, hissing under her breath, "watch your mouth, Bridger."
"Oh. Right. Uh…yeah. Beautiful tree," he said awkwardly.
Sabine
Sabine resisted a strong urge to facepalm.
Come on, you womp-rat! Figure it out! Sabine huffed internally.
They were, of course, discussing the bomb.
Like it was a tree, since he had said 'plant.'
Sabine was good at lying.
Ezra was not.
Clearly.
His hand tightened at her shoulder as he struggled with the steps.
"Stand on my feet," Sabine whispered.
"WHAT? I can do it! I can remember, I'm not a little—" Ezra began to whine, but Sabine interjected, "just do it."
He sighed, obeying.
She smirked as he struggled to learn the steps, his large feet awkwardly pushing down on Sabine's.
"Now try it on your own," she said softly.
"Okay," he muttered, stepping back.
His muscle memory had learned, the steps were now memorized.
She praised herself in her mind before saying slyly, "but you still mess up that spin. Every time, Ezra. Every time."
Hera
When the pair arrived back on the Ghost, the building exploding behind them, full of corrupt senators and Imperial jerks, Hera couldn't help but laugh.
Sabine was ripping her shoes off from the ache of dancing, Ezra looked hot and sweaty in the tux, tugging the bow tie off, and they were both heaving like they'd won a marathon.
Zeb and Chopper chortled. "What did ya do, go to the gym or somethin'? Thought ya were going to a dance!" Zeb laughed.
Sabine and Ezra glared wordlessly at them all.
But as they both trudged to their rooms, Hera noticed one final glance that they exchanged—fluttery, sweet, barely there—the kind of glance she'd share with Kanan when he'd said something romantic.
She smiled at the teens' cute antics, hoping these moments could last forever.
Hope you liked it! See you soon—I'll try to update and add one on May 4th? (STAR WARS DAY!) Please leave a review if you liked it.
