Chapter Text
0BBY
At the edge of town, the Ghost touches down on a rooftop. Filing out of the ship, they move to sit and stand, strong and broken, watching the destruction of the Imperial Base.
Below, Lothal celebrates.
Thunderous applause drowns out the whistling of falling debris as Lothalians teem in the streets — colourful and squashed together in a way they haven’t been for a long time. It’s more than satisfying to see all that money, resource, and pain crash into the sea in a billow of orange flames and black smoke.
From where he’s sitting, Zeb grins savage and elated, as Ryder is reanointed Governor on the giant screen above the city.
It almost feels like the completion of a life’s work. With the enormity of future now open in front of him, Zeb doesn’t quite know how to feel because it’s so much at once. Watching the celebrating town below with a chest bursting with pride though, he wishes so strongly that Kanan and Ezra were here. Then he could bask in the revelry without the weight of grief in his heart.
Dusk comes and even as the sky deepens to a bruised purple and yellow, there is no sign of the celebration stopping. A fire is started in the main square — Zeb can’t quite see from their spot, but he assumes with all the shouting and hollering, whatever the Lothalians are throwing into the flames is Empire-related.
Over the hours, their ragtag little group had slowly separated. Rex and Wolffe left first to pay their respects to their fallen brother in private (Zeb knows what it’s like to be one of the last of your kind). Hondo, Melch and Vizago disappeared not long after (most likely in search of booze or stolen goods), and Kallus, who had sat down heavily a distance from the group, managed to slink off without being seen. That just leaves the four of them — the only Spectres left — in a silence that feels both full enough and far too empty.
Sabine notices first. She pushes into Zeb’s shoulder with her hip, and when he looks up at her, she mouths, “Hera.”
Zeb turns.
Hera stands behind them, a tear running down her face, both of her hands clutching at her shoulder. When she notices them looking, her exhale is a sharp sob. “My Spectres,” she says all wobbly, coming close to cup Sabine’s cheek and squeeze Zeb’s shoulder. She smiles at them through shining eyes.
Zeb pushes himself to his feet to envelop her and Sabine in his arms. “Karabast, Hera.”
Despite their undeniable strength, the two women pressed against him seem so unbelievably small. He can feel where Sabine presses her forehead into Hera’s neck. Where their hands meet halfway around his back. There are a series of beeps, and Chopper pushes his body into them like a hug. It’s almost sweet.
Then he runs over Zeb’s toes.
“You,” he growls, one step away from chasing after the astromech to give him a good kick in the strut, but Hera laughs into his fur. It’s watery but it instantly soothes, and Zeb relaxes back into the family hug.
In the end, Hera retires first. There’s no doubt that she hasn’t been sleeping properly since Kanan died, and no one would ever blame her for wanting to be alone. If nothing else, she has Chopper, who follows with a chirp that almost sounds kind. Once she leaves, Sabine disappears into the ship, returning five minutes later with her arms full of spray-paint canisters.
Zeb can’t bear to return to his room right now, so he levers himself down, leaning back on his arms to watch over Lothal. It’s a warm night and the breeze, when it moves, smells like smoke. In the square below, the town’s celebrations are easing but he knows they’ll most likely continue until daylight. Why wouldn’t they, when they’re finally free from the Empire?
Despite the continued celebrations, Zeb decides it's safe enough to set his Bo-rifle to the side and lie down. He huffs a laugh at nothing in particular as he does, arms shifting behind his head and one leg propping up on the other.
The click-rattle of Sabine’s cans are as easily familiar as the sky and stars above (not that Lothal would ever be the same again). It feels fittingly peaceful, and Zeb enjoys being able to relax in her presence.
It’s strange that after so long, their mission here is finally done…
A hand gently rouses him, and Zeb blinks his eyes open to the light blue and pink of sunrise, and Hera’s gently smiling face above. He tries to greet her, but he doesn’t quite manage it —he thinks it sounds something like “groodmorfnin”— but it makes her eyes sparkle.
“We’re wanted back at Base.”
Zeb groans. “Already?”
Hera’s smile is apologetic and her hand is gentle on his arm. “We leave in an hour if you want some more rest.”
Nah, he’s awake now. Zeb rolls himself up to his feet and catches sight of the painting Sabine had started when he began to drift off. It’s finished now —the firebird symbol of the rebellion painted on the roof in greens and blues and oranges and purples. The symbol has always meant hope, but now it’s a stamp of their victory. The first of its kind. Seeing it makes him feel heartbreakingly happy but the ache in his chest is bittersweet.
Sabine herself is nowhere in sight, instead they find her lingering at the entrance of the Ghost.
Her helmet is tucked under her arm and her face is set with determination. Zeb knows her well enough to see the weariness lingering there as well. He understands the expression on her face, and when she doesn’t follow them onto the boarding ramp, Zeb knows she’s not coming with them. (He figured she wouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean he likes it).
“I’m going to stay a while,” she says. “Make sure everything here is alright before I return to my family.”
Zeb’s heart pangs at her words, but he gently squeezes her shoulder anyway. By Ashla, she was so young when they met . His little sister. It’s almost like he can see every year he’s known her pass by at once. Now, watching her leave seems permanent.
He knows she has to do this, for herself and for her family, so, what else is there to say but “I’ll miss ya.”
It’s not a perfect goodbye, but it doesn’t need to be. He trusts that Sabine knows all the things he couldn’t say.
And she does, if the way her lips tick up at the edges are anything to go by. “I’ll miss you too.”
Zeb nods, turns, and forces himself to walk up the boarding ramp.
And then the Ghost is leaving Lothal — and Kanan, and Ezra, and now Sabine .