Chapter Text
Zeb paced anxiously around the Ghost’s common area until he heard Ezra’s familiar footsteps fall behind him.
He turned around. “Hey kid.”
The teen’s face was disturbingly blank.
“Hey.”
“I, uh,” Zeb ran into the galley and brought out two plates of waffles, “I made your favorite, just how you like them.” He placed the plates on the table.
Ezra wordlessly sat down and began to eat. Zeb watched him while his own plate went untouched. He finally attempted to take a stab at his own waffles, then gently placed his fork down.
“Look, Ezra.” Ezra looked up. “I need to apologize for earlier. I-I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I’m sorry.”
Before Ezra could reply, they heard someone else’s footsteps shuffle. Both their heads snapped up. Ezra reached out with the Force while Zeb’s ears twitched. Once the Ghost seemed satisfyingly still, beyond the usual hum of the engines, they turned back to one another.
Ezra sighed. “Zeb. Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time.” Zeb’s ear’s fell against his head. “I mean, you really blew up earlier. I’ve never seen you get mad like that before, and judging by everyone else’s reactions, they haven’t either. You’ve been on edge more than usual lately, too. I need an explanation, Zeb, not just an apology.”
Zeb looked down at the empty seat next to him. “I…” He rubbed his thighs. “I heard some news recently that I, uh, haven’t been taking well.”
Ezra looked at him sympathetically. “Was it bad?”
“I wish it was.” Zeb’s face fell. “It was good news, but good news I almost wish I hadn’t heard.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“You know how I’ve been doing those extra missions for Fulcrum?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“So,” Zeb exhaled and let his gaze trace around the room. He rubbed the back of his head, “a couple of them brought me to the same place where I’ve, uh, met up with someone a couple of times. Nice guy, I thought we really hit it off. Good looking too, hates the Empire. The type that checks all my boxes y’know?”
“Okay, a little too much info there Zeb. Can you get to the point please?”
“Alright, alright. Anyway, turns out this guy was someone I thought was dead, who died about four years ago now. Turns out,” Zeb took a breath, “he’s alive.” Ezra inhaled. Zeb swore he heard a muffled gasp and more shuffling from the hallway. “Hera, you can come out now.”
Hera walked into the common area. “It can’t be.” She sat down next to him, her eyes full of questions.
“It’s true, Hera. Skan’s alive.”
She reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “But how? We saw him, he died in your arms Zeb.”
Zeb bowed his head. “I don’t know Hera, I really don’t know.”
“Wait,” Ezra interjected, “who’s Skan?”
“Skan Kalo.” Kanan answered. Everyone jumped, not having sensed the Jedi walk in. Kanan calmly sat down next to Ezra. “He was a bounty hunter. And a friend. He showed us the ins and outs of the Lothal underground and introduced us to Old Jho and Vizhago. Without his connections, we would have never stayed on Lothal. And if we didn’t stay on Lothal, we wouldn’t have found Sabine or you.”
“So he’s basically the entire reason our family is together.” Ezra followed. Kanan nodded. “I guess since this kinda involves me, could you guys,” Ezra looked at the three adults, “maybe tell me the whole story? If that’s okay with you?” He looked at Zeb, who nodded.
Hera looked over at Zeb, waiting for permission to start. Zeb nodded at her. She sighed, “Well, it all started in a seedy dive bar that you know and love.”
Ezra gasped, “Old Jho’s?!”
“Exactly.”
Four years earlier, 6 BBY…
Hera had been on Lothal several times, but never here before. It was as if every dive bar in the galaxy was cloned from one another: the air saturated with the heavy stench of alcohol, smoke so thick it burnt her eyes, and filled to the brim with the shadiest characters in the entire Outer Rim. Kanan stayed close here, as he always did. It wasn’t just out of infatuation; a gentle bristle of cloth signaled that he’d slipped his hand under his robe, keeping a light hand on his saber’s handle.
On her other side, Zeb remained tense, his ears flicking about, observing the room as much as his eyes. Hera expected no less. It had only been a few weeks since Zeb finally agreed to join their crew. He’d quickly assumed the role of the team’s muscle, not because he was incapable of anything else, but because Hera knew he needed to personally see to their safety.
It was Kanan who broke out the Lasat from the gladiator ring he’d been trapped in for the past three years. They’d escaped together a few months ago, but Zeb insisted he’d leave the Ghost once he’d heard from potential Lasat settlements. After those months passed and Zeb hadn’t heard a word, Hera reminded him he had a place with them. The promise of some permanence and kindness seemed to be the only thing that kept him from breaking down entirely. Kanan was especially understanding during Zeb’s smaller meltdowns, from which Zeb would bounce back somehow more protective of the younger two humanoids than before.
Hera walked up to the one table not wholly obscured in smoke. In the booth sat a vaguely humanoid form. Their feet were crossed on top of the table as they leaned back against the booth’s cushioning, drink in hand. Their face was covered in wraps reminiscent of Sand people’s coverings. In place of the Tuskens’ usual eye and mouth guards, however, they had on large goggles and their mouth was left under cloth. They wore a beige robe standard across most planets, with equally bland beige pants and dark brown boots to match.
They swished their drink around in its glass. “Well, well, well, now who might you be?” A voice modulator distorted the speaker’s smooth, high-pitched query.
Hera smirked. “No one you know, but we have a mutual friend. Had.” Her smirk faltered. “The one who'd sit by the deserts of Ryloth.”
The figure took one long, last look at their drink before settling the cup down. They slowly stood and calmly walked towards the Ghost crew with a slight sway of their hips.
“Hera Syndulla.” They realized, with an over pronounced sibilance.
Hera nodded. “Skan Kalo.”
A garbled scratching noise and the rise of Skan’s shoulders indicated a sigh.
“Please accept my sincerest condolences on Howzer’s passing. He was a great customer, and occasionally, a good friend.”
“Thank you.” Hera whispered. She took a breath. “Oh, and this is my crew. Kanan Jarrus.” She gestured to Kanan, who nodded. “And—”
“—Oh, hello there.” Skan finally noticed Zeb and abruptly turned towards him. They walked up to Zeb, the sway in their hips more pronounced this time. Stopping in front of the Lasat, Skan very obviously looked the other man up and down, then finally fixated on Zeb’s face, his head tilted. “And who might you be, handsome?”
Zeb stilled and his fur ruffled every so slightly. If he were being honest, this Skan Kalo had a creepy voice and a strange affect, but they certainly had a nice…figure. It had been more than some time since someone tried coming on to him, too. Keeping in character as Hera’s bodyguard, however, he gritted his teeth.
“Name’s Zeb. That’s all you need to know, Kalo.”
Before Skan could reply, Hera intervened. “Don’t you have a job for us, Skan?” She smiled sweetly.
Skan shook their head. “Oh yes, of course. But first,” they walked back to Hera, “please, get yourselves a drink. Tell Old Jho over there to put it on my tab, and introduce yourselves while you’re at it.” They leaned into Hera. “And if you want to do more jobs here on Lothal, make sure to let Old Jho know that too. Subtly. You know what I mean.” Hera nodded and the Ghost trio walked over.
Once they returned to Skan’s booth, the bounty hunter spread out a large piece of flimsi across the table. “This is a map of Lothal. If you take the job, we’re going to need this, your ship, and my contact, a smuggler named Cikatro Vizago.”