A/N: Y'all wanna know how scatterbrained I was all semester? I freakin forgot that I wrote this one-shot last month. Found it just now while I was looking through my fanfic folder, so here we go!

Permanent

A shadow fell across Sabine as she sat in her cabin floor painting her toenails. Nail polish brush in her expert hand, she didn't look up when Ezra cleared his throat; she knew what was coming.

"Can I help you?" Her words were mumbled, the side of her face resting against a drawn-up knee as she concentrated on applying an even coat of polish to each nail. It was black, just like her mood was about to be.

He sniffed. "I just heard the worst-kept secret on Chopper Base."

"Oh?" Still no eye contact with him. "Which one? That Kanan and Hera used to do it or that Rex cheated you at that game of sabacc last week and thought it was hilarious?" Sabine did look up then, just in time to see Ezra's eyes bulge.

"He wha—" Ezra stopped short, folding his arms over his chest. "You're not going to distract me that easily."

"Are you sure?"

He was sure. "Tattoo," he said, cutting to the chase.

"No."

The newest worst-kept secret on Chopper Base was Sabine's capability not only with applying paint to canvas and walls, but to people, too; she was a decent tattoo artist. Word got out when a young Twi'lek recruit asked Hera if she knew of anyone who could tattoo his lekku with the geometric markings of his clan. Sabine had touched up a few of Hera's own tattoos recently, so Hera referred him to her. And then the Twi'lek's girlfriend, a pilot, wanted her callsign tattooed on her shoulder. The girl's bunkmate saw it and thought, Wouldn't it be cool if all the Phoenix Squadron pilots got a starbird tattoo somewhere?

Sabine had been busy—clandestinely. It almost always happened that during the appointed tattooing time, either she or her "client" were on duty, so things had been kept quiet...ish. All of the pilots knew, and so did their bunkmates, Zeb and Rex knew, Hera suspected; Ezra had known that someone had been tattooing starbirds on the Phoenix Squadron pilots, but had been obtuse enough not to realize that it was Sabine herself. They were walking to mess one afternoon when a pilot passed them, his starbird tattooed on his neck, and Ezra said, "I've noticed a lot of those lately."

Sabine, intent on keeping him in the dark just shrugged and said, "At least whoever's doing it is staying true to the original design."

Part of her knew that if he found out she was the artist, they'd end up having this exact conversation. And she knew he'd be gratingly persistent about it.

"I'll pay you," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "We already established that you're broke because of sabacc, remember?"

"Weeeelllll, then..." He snapped his fingers. "I'll take your next four duty shifts!"

"Forget it." She very pointedly returned to her task, hoping he'd take the hint and go away.

Moving in a blur, Ezra stepped in the room, leaned down, and then swiped his fingers across her drying toenails, ruining the polish. Sabine's head shot up and she stared at him, too stunned to even be angry.

"Ezra, what the kriff?"

"Don't blow me off! I am genuinely asking you for a favor and you're not even hearing me out."

Miraculously, Sabine kept her temper in check. She rolled her lips over her teeth, making a sucking sound. "Alright," she said slowly. She shifted out of the floor, sitting on the bench under her bunk. "I'm listening."

"Thank you." Ezra sighed gustily, eyes lighting up. He sat across from her, leaning forward on steepled fingers. "Okay, so. You know the symbol that would pop up when Fulcrum transmissions came through?"

"Mhmm." She frowned, bothered that he couldn't bring himself to say Ahsoka's name. She knew exactly what symbol he was talking about, too: the Togruta's facial markings.

He faltered, clearly having expected her to take over the conversation. "I—I want that."

She sketched the design in her mind's eye. Crisp, clean lines. Symmetry. It'd be easy; easier than the starbird, as a matter of fact. "Not too bad," she conceded. "Where do you want it?"

"Here." He spread his hand over his side.

"Stand up." They slid out of their respective seats, standing in front of each other. Sabine frowned. "Pick up your shirt."

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. He lifted his shirt as instructed, exposing his right side. A crease formed between her eyes as she evaluated clinically, running a hand over his ribs. Thanks to his recent growth spurt, Ezra was thin and lean; very little body fat. "You know getting a tattoo that big on your ribs will hurt, right? I mean, like 'I wish I'd been shot with a blaster instead of this' hurt."

"Yep. I know."

Sabine's breath caught when she saw the shadow in his eyes. He'd chosen to get the tattoo on his ribs because it would be painful. She yanked his shirt down. "No. I'm not doing it."

His face darkened. "Why not? You'll tattoo everyone on base except me? I thought you were my best friend."

She recoiled as if he'd slapped her and her eyes stung. "I am! That's why I am not going to help you—help you punish yourself for what happened to Ahsoka and Kanan."

"That's not—"

"You're gonna have to figure out how to lie more convincingly than that." She took a step back, folding her arms over her chest. "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. But I don't think you're in the right headspace to be making permanent decisions."

For a flicker of a second, he looked ready to spill everything. Then he closed himself off. "You don't know anything about it," he spat. "Thanks for nothing."

He turned and left, the door closing behind him. Sabine grabbed her forgotten bottle of nail polish out of the floor and threw it against a wall. It shattered. Black droplets and shards of glass fell on the floor. She climbed up onto her bunk and lay on her stomach, watching an inky puddle spread quickly and silently—just like the darkness that was consuming her best friend.

She knew that if she tried hard enough, she'd be able to get the nail polish stain off her floor with a lot of scrubbing and a little willpower. But Ezra? All she could do was hope that the stains on his heart and soul weren't permanent.

Anger simmered down as fast as it flared and Ezra spent the next few hours working up the nerve to go and apologize to Sabine for speaking so harshly. About the time he swung his legs over the edge of his bunk, his cabin door opened. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light pouring in from the hall; he'd been sitting in the dark for a long time, letting it curl around him.

Sabine slapped the control panel, flooding the room with light—both literally and figuratively. "I've been thinking," she said, voice soft. He noticed something tucked under her arm. "You were right. I wasn't really listening to you earlier."

He sighed, dragging a hand over his hair. A few strands worked loose from the stubby ponytail he'd started wearing. "Sabine, you don't have to—" He sighed. "I was kind of a jerk."

She looked down at her feet pointedly. "I was gonna gloss over that, but since you mentioned it..."

"Yeah," he said wincing. "Sorry."

"I know." She stepped in, closing the door behind her. "So I haven't changed my mind about the tattoo."

He jumped off his bunk. "I didn't think you would. What's up?"

"I don't—I don't think you really want a tattoo." She shifted uncomfortably. "I think you want something you can control because things right now are..."

"Screwed up?" His fists balled up at his sides.

"Yeah. And it got me thinking. Do you know why women change their hair so much?"

He felt his face scrunch in confusion. "For fun? Because you like color?"

"Because it's something we can control." She took the small black case under her arm and unzipped it, showing him the hair clippers inside. "You want a change, and I can help you with that. This situation?" She gestured to his hair. "Definitely needs some help."

He was simultaneously intrigued and affronted. "I kind of like it."

"Trust me—no one else does. Come on," she coaxed. "It'll make you look more sophisticated."

"Whatever you say, Wren." He bit down on a smile. "Lead the way."

"Come on, then." They headed toward the common room. "Thanks, by the way," she said over her shoulder.

"What for?"

There was an artful gleam in her eye. "Zeb bet twenty creds you wouldn't let me cut it."