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Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The ringing in Sabine's ears defeaned her from afar, as she watched the explosives going off in the imperial building, just as planned. It was a chain reaction, each bomb triggering the next. Through the main building, lining the air ducts and eventually ending up in the storage compartment, where an experiment of the Impires once brewed. Now all that remains is rubble and ash.
"Spectre Five! Come in, spectre five!" Hera asked through the comlink, "What's your status?"
She pushed the button on the side of her helmet, unmuting herself, "Spectre five, reporting in. The mission was successful, and I am at the redevous point, awaiting pick up."
She muted herself once more and looked upon the building. The flames blended into the rising sun—the mission took place in the early morning, despite her and Zeb's grievances about waking up before dawn.
Lukily, their squadron would be getting a small break once this mission was over; they'd been on too many back-to-back missions as it was.
"Spectre Six! Come in spectre six. Are you at the pick up point?"
Ezra was supposed to be on the south side of the building, while she was on the north. She was responsible for planting the explosives on a wide-spread level, where as he was responsible for planting them in a harder-to-reach level.
Her lips quirked up at the memory of his melodramatic complaints about getting stuck in the air vents again.
"Spectre Six, what is your status spectre six?" Hera asked a second time. The only responce was a blank silence, the fuzzy static of a broken com.
Her heart dropped to her stomach, "Ezra, this isn't funny." She tried to sound scolding, but the worry was blatant in her tone, "I know you don't like the vent duty, but this isn't the time the joke around."
The silence was more defeaning than any explosive she had ever heard.
Karabast.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
When they finally found his body—his body—he was partially buried under some rubble, a leg and ribs broken, blood pouring from his scull.
She couldn't breathe. Her hands shook.
They carried him onto the Ghost on a stretcher she'd never had the displeasure of seeing before. Zeb had to pull her away from the hangar where they were trying to stop the bleeding with an elementary med-kid.
She was going into shock, Zeb had said. She needed to get strapped in so they could take off, he said. Don't think about it too hard, he said, Ezra would be okay.
Like he always was.
But when they returned to Yavin 4—a cold, militaristic replacement for the warmth of Atollon—the healers said they did everything they could.
But he wasn't waking up. The head trauma had put him into a coma. The good news was that his oxygen levels were stable, and that there were no signs of infection. The swelling in his brain was minimal, and he should wake before long.
Kanan wanted to put him into a healing trance, but didn't trust his abilities to do so safely. Hera wanted to go back out on a mission to keep herself distracted, but Mon Mothma blatantly refused at the sight of the rest of the squad. Zeb was doing everything he could to make things feel normal, but the pranks on Chopper just weren't funny anymore.
People tried to get her to go out, but she couldn't enjoy the competitive games they created. People entered and exited the medical wing in various states of injury, but she just couldn't bring her eyes to wander.
Had she waited too long?
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
"What is the force, Kanan?" She asked a week later, finding a common hobby with the man: waiting by Ezra's bedside when she wasn't being dragged off to places she couldn't rememeber.
He exhaled slowly, "Well, it's complicated."
She ran her fingers over and under Ezra's limp hand, "Try, please. I think we could both use the distraction." She smiled, as if to encourage him, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.
She was too afraid to find that they'd mirror her own.
"It lives within every living thing," he began. "It connects the trees to the flowers, the birds to the sky. It's will is everywhere, from the starships killing thousands, to a child playing with a simple toy."
He chuckled, "And just as soon as you think you might have a grasp on the extent in which force is and ever will be, it always comes back to surprise you."
She nodded, not really understanding, but more than happy to listen. "And the force is with Ezra?" She asked.
He nodded, "It always was, even before he started training."
She drew meaningless doodles on Ezra's palm, "And the force will wake him up?"
Kanan leaned back, "I have to believe it is the will of the force for him to wake up. I don't really know what I'd do if he didn't. He's practically..." He shook his head, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes.
"You should tell him," She said, flipping Ezra's hand over and lacing her fingers into his limp ones.
"I can't," he replied, "The bond between a master and padawan is only meant to be that, any further attachments are technically against the code."
She snorted, amused—sarcastically, but amused nonetheless, "Yeah, well, the code didn't save anyone from the Empire. I think it'd be worth more to him than it would offend the force to tell him that he's practically your son."
Kanan crossed his arms, "What's stopping you, then?"
She smiled, bittersweet, "I'll have to return to Mandalore and become a countess if this war ever ends. You think they'd let me bring a Jedi into my lineage?"
"Even so, why not enjoy what time you have? You won't be going any time soon, at the rate the rebellion is going."
She ran her thumb over top of Ezra's bony knuckles, "I dont think so, but wouldn't it be cruel? To love and be loved in such a way, only to have it ripped from your hands? To be the one tearing it away from the only person you'd never wish harm on?"
He shook his head, "That'll happen either way, death comes for us all in the end."
Her vision blurred and she swallowed thickly, "But is it wrong of me to want to spare him the pain? He's lost everything he loved on his homeworld, why should I give him one more thing to cherish, if only to lose it?"
Kanan couldn't tell if she was talking about Ezra, or herslef.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Unconsiously, she gripped Ezra's hand tighter. Kanan sighed, "He deserves to have a choice, too. You should make memories together while you can, so when he is gone, you can cherish them."
"Do you take your own advise, or has the dance between you and Hera gotten somewhere already?" She asked, in a moment of bitter defesiveness.
Kanan huffed, "Well, if you're going to be—"
Sabine sucked in a sharp breath. He stopped talking. She could've sworn she felt—
—a squeeze.
She stood up and held her breath, watching Ezra's facial features scrunch up while he wiggled in the bed.
The corners of her lips popped up in excitement, too hesitant to be a full smile, but it was filled with hopeful anticipation, "Kanan—Kanan go get a nurse, I think he's waking up!"
Kanan rushed out the door and she ever so gently sat on the side of the bed, watching him slowly blink and come to his surroundings. A sleepy smile spread across his face at the sight of her, one that was met with her own tear-filled grin.
He looked around at their surroundings, and landed on their hands. But before he could mention anything, a nurse and a doctor made their way in.
An hour, many questions, and two cups of icechips later, Ezra was showing no severe signs of damage. He would be allowed to talk to one person at a time, so as to not overwhelm him.
Suppose all the lions get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
Once she was allowed in, he cracked a joke with his raspy voice, "So, I've been told that unconsious me gets to hold your hand. Do you think the consious me could make a deal, too?"
She snorted, before laughing and making his own face light up at the sound. She held in her relieved giggles so she could respond, "I think we could work something out."
She walked over and sat down by his leg, looking down at the hand she'd become familiar with over the past week. Making a split second decision, she laced their fingers together, ignoring the clashing feelings of running away versus the bubbling warmth overtaking her chest.
She refused to meet his eyes, and he slowly brought a hand up to push back her hair behind her ear.
"I'm okay, Sabine. I'm not going out that easily."
She cracked a smile, and sniffed, as she was too tired and relieved to hold back the waterworks, "You do that again, and I'll kill you."
Jokingly, he asked, "And if I don't?" He swiped away the stray tears before poking her nose, like the nucanse she knows he is.
If I could tell you I would let you know.
"Well, I guess I'll—" she whispered, hesitating. But she looked up and smiled softly, "Well I suppose I'll just have to admit that I love you."