Glaring at his reflection in the mirror, tucked away in the crawlspace, Ezra muttered all guttural, "Could scar." Fussing, he continued, "I hate scars." Gingerly, he fingered the jagged edges around the sizeable gash he'd received less than a week ago at the hands of a stroppy stormtrooper. He rolled his eyes, clenching his swollen jaw, glowering. "Right across the cheek. Any higher, might have cost me my eye." Vanity aside, he might have wound up one-eyed that day, keeping the guy who so often saved the day, Kanan, from harm's way. That pregnant girl, who had appeared to be no older than Ezra, owed the trusty Jedi her life and the life of her unborn child. "If I have to be scarred, I'd prefer it to be someplace else. Not my face…" He stared at himself harder, trying to visualize the raised, discolored flesh mar his looks. He turned away from the mirror in disgust.

"It won't be that bad."

Ezra jumped, then practically barreled into Sabine, who, caught somewhat off-guard, regarded him then with knowing eyes. Taking a few steps back, she looked him squarely in his sullen face. With her hands affixed squarely at her hips, she refrained from chiding him further. Narrowing his eyes, Ezra spat, "Yeah, right."

"No really. It won't. Give it a few months, you'll hardly be able to tell. Like it's a scratch."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear; she was patronizing him. As she often did, seeing him as just some rangy, self-centered, shortsighted kid. His pouting wasn't doing much for selling his maturity to her. Yes, he had a thing for the spunky weapons expert from Mandalore. But if Wren had an inkling of just how much, she downplayed his one-track mind every chance she got. She liked the kid, but purely in a platonic vein. At least she kept telling herself that. Ezra had a way with the Force and a rough and tumble way with charm. The kid had moxie and he used it to his advantage.

He wasn't that much younger than she. Guys from the streets always seemed older. This one had had to grow up on his own, having lost his parents early in life.

Sabine was way too young to be a 'cougar.'

"It's too deep to be just a scratch," Ezra complained sourly, not wanting her seeing him like this. She smiled at him, and his heart fluttered. He loved her, and her passion. It galled him, not being bold enough to come right out and tell her all that he felt for her. She'd probably give him several pats on his back, telling him to 'suck it up.'

Words were tumbling from her lips until she put an abrupt halt to them—"Nothing could mar that cute, handsom—" Ezra eyed her closely, keenly aware of a slew of emotions glimmering on her face. She backed away several more steps, as though he had plague, horrified, all set to turn her back on him. She had no intention of giving him any wrong ideas. Why did they usually stand a shade too close together? Suddenly, her legs were shaky; like strong bones had become jelly. Sabine sighed, the thought running through her mind why was she being such a 'borgeest?' The impulsive creatures, who lived like gaseous silhouettes on the wind, drifting through the rolling plains of Boral? After taking a deep breath, she began again, sounding as though she'd cut her tongue on her teeth. "How do you feel about graffiti?"

Ezra blinked in surprise. Here he was, a maimed man, and Sabine sounded as though being disfigured meant nothing at all. His new nickname would be Scarface. He so didn't want to be called that, not by her, not by anyone. He titled his head to the side, angling the blemish away from her. He decided to humor her. "I like yours."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Satisfaction suffused the radiance of her beautiful face. She jutted her hip at him as though in challenge. "I've got an idea." Her demeanor suggested that he follow.

"Like?" Ezra countered, without a clue what she was driving at. Not having to be told, he tagged along.

"Speeding up the healing process for your lesion while making it appear less unsightly."

"How?"

"I'll show you how. Keep following…"

"How?" he persisted, unaware that they had an unseen audience.

Zeb was holed up overhead in a storage compartment, keeping well out of sight. Chuckling, relishing all that he'd heard thus far, he muttered in amusement, "The kid's her sappy-eyed puppet. Whatever she says, he believes. Never one word of protest from him. If I were her, I'd work it to my advantage." Painstakingly he fought the urge to jump down and scare the Force out of the Sabine-crazy dunderhead. He decided to save the prank for another time instead. Ezra was Force-sensitive, and Kanan was training him in the ways of the Jedi, but that didn't mean he couldn't get the jump on him to take him completely by surprise. Something that would involve venting panel insulation and smelly jlole cheese. Meaningful fun like that was too hard to pass up.

Chopper too, keeping out of sight, monitored them as they passed. His soft 'clurps' were inaudible. Waiting a bit, the droid proceeded to bring up the rear, all the way to Sabine's quarters. Of all the crew, Ezra seemed closest to the pragmatic, shapely young rebel. The nosy droid made it as far as the door, which banged shut tightly before its boxy face. More crackly-sounding electronic gripes flowed from the disgruntled machine. It hated being left out of the loop.

Once inside her colorful quarters, Sabine got right to work. Quickly getting her hands on the medicinal cream, she ordered Ezra to seat himself, which he did immediately. Zeb would have gloated seeing him do so. Ezra was so sure that her cream would smell horrible, but surprisingly, it smelled quite the opposite. Its aroma was soothing, filling his nostrils with the delightful, delicate fragrance of fresh-picked yogans.

"This stuff will prevent me getting a scar?" Ezra prompted, penetrating her eyes with his that probed.

"Uh huh. It should." Sabine frowned a fraction, pouring her soul into her task. This needed to be done just right. She took pride in her handiwork, always did, no matter where she placed it. Scrawled across the side of a TIE-fighter, or even this young warrior's squirming face. Ezra squirmed too much for her liking, so she told him to hold still for the umpteenth time. She gave his chin in her hand another firm squeeze. "Hold still!"

"Yeah. All right." It was easier said than done. Having her so close like this was unfamiliar and ticklish, despite its being very, very nice. Even nicer than any dream he'd had about her to date. She genuinely seemed to care about him. At this moment in time, what more could he ask for? She giving him her full attention.

Ezra calmed, his fidgeting ceased as he gazed thoughtfully at Sabine. Was she almost done with attending to him? He felt her concern with every stroke of application. She'd started using another cream. The first one had been a bright blue; this one she used now reminded him of a sunset on his homeworld. He had the feeling that she was using his countenance as a canvas, blending the hues together as she both treated and created a work of aesthetics upon his skin.

"Have a look," she invited, handing him a small hand mirror for his inspection. She exuded pride, never apologetic for her displays.

Ezra took up what she proffered, looked; a small gasp escaped him. Just as he'd suspected, Sabine's handiwork was plainly on his face. What she'd done was nothing short of amazing. "This is great, Sabine. Simply great!" He toyed with the idea of self-inflicting another wound on his other cheek for her to repeat the process. Wait—what? No. He could just ask her to do the honors with more of her signature graffiti, without having to injure himself.

Sabine frowned momentarily, not sure if she was thoroughly pleased with how the B in his last name had come out. The E, for Ezra, had turned out just as she wanted it. "When the wound healing finishes up, the cream will disappear. There'll be no trace of cut, nor color."

"Sabine?"

"Yes?"

Sort of holding his breath, he exhaled in one whoosh. "Do my other side?" He craned his neck, offering his unmarred facial side like a trophy. "Make it rebel-worthy. You know. Something like…Rebels Rule. The Empire's Run By Fools." He shrugged, feeling then that his off-the-cuff epithet fell short of her expectation.

"That's a lot for your small cheek, but I'll try." Setting her mind and heart to it, Sabine went to work. She thought to add, "Not to worry. The cream's safe for undamaged skin. It's more like a facial."

Ezra closed his eyes, losing himself in her delicate touch, and held as still as stone. He'd be her willing canvas anytime. She was so good.