Chapter Text

I. FORTRESS INQUISITORIUS — NUR

5 BBY

The soles of Thirteenth Sister’s shoes click against the durasteel floor as she steps into the dormitory room, spying the other three junior Inquisitors. The Elevens, inseparable as always, sprawl side-by-side on the floor, chatting, and Twelfth Sister sits on her bunk, calm and poised, reading a datapad.

Thirteenth Sister interrupts the conversation.

“I have a mission.”

Twelfth Sister rolls her eyes, pulling a party horn out of somewhere and giving it a pathetic honk.

Eleventh Brother, on the other hand, jumps up, shimmering with a bright glow of never ending cheer in the otherwise dark Inquisitorius, and slaps her on the back.

“Congratulations!”

“You don’t seem happy,” Eleventh Sister observes, tilting her head.

Thirteenth growls, letting her frustration simmer. “They’re sending me to look for Jedi with the Grand Inquisitor. He hates me.”

Twelfth Sister honks the party horn again. Somehow, she makes it sound sarcastic.

“This is punishment for Concord Dawn. I know it.”

“Boo-hoo. So horrible. You get sent on an important mission with someone you don't like. Be glad that’s the only punishment,” Twelfth says darkly, flexing the joints of her prosthetic hand meaningfully. She’s never liked Thirteenth Sister.

Thirteenth Sister bristles. “Jade, just because you flunked out of Emperor’s Hand school or whatever your sob story is—”

“Wait.” Eleventh Brother steps between them. “Both of you, stop. We can all get along. Just calm down. ‘Teen, you should make sure you have whatever you need.”

“It might not be so bad,” Eleventh Sister offers unconvincingly, as Thirteenth slams through her drawers, looking for her favorite cape.

“Not likely,” Thirteenth snarls, and storms off to nag the laundry droids.

II. THE GHOST

5 BBY

It’s never felt like his room.

Even the very first day he joined the Ghost crew, when Hera let him know that he’d be sharing a room with Spectre Five, it didn’t feel right.

Sometimes, Ezra sees art on the walls and hears a girl’s faraway laughter. But when he blinks, it’s gone.

His roommate doesn’t notice. At least, he hasn’t said anything.

A few months ago, Ezra went and bought some cheap paints and brushes. The edges of every wall are now covered in swirls and stars and zig-zag patterns.

Tristan got a funny look on his face when he saw Ezra painting the walls. Ezra offered to scrub it off but Tristan shook his head and mumbled something about his sister. As far as Ezra knows, Tristan only has one sister, and she’s dead. He doesn’t ask for more details.

He also doesn’t paint on the center of the wall. He tried, once, but wiped it away after less than a minute.

It feels wrong, like he’s drawing on a finished picture.

So he draws in purple and orange and blue all along the borders of the walls, framing a canvas for someone else to paint.

III. ALAMASS

4 BBY

It had been a trap.

They got intel from an anonymous source—which should have made them wary at the beginning—that there were Kyber crystals growing on an ice planet in the far reaches of the Outer Rim. Kanan thought it could be true, since Kyber tended to grow in places with extreme weather, so the three of them—Ezra, Kanan, and Ahsoka—took the Phantom and went to investigate.

Zero Kyber, and one Inquisitor.

It’s the same one from Stygeon Prime, the one who follows the Grand Inquisitor around. She had cloaked herself in a shadowy corner of the ice caves and waited until they’d passed her to attack from behind.

The following chaos had been enough to cause a cave-in. Ezra could still sense Kanan and, faintly, Ahsoka, but they were far away.

He’d barely been able to dive out of the way of the falling ice, into a crevice in the wall. The snow had blocked off the exit, and the tiny crack in the ceiling is barely enough to let in fresh air.

And, oh yeah, the Inquisitor is here too.

She glares down at him. At least, Ezra thinks she’s glaring. She’s wearing a helmet, and the only light is coming from her red ‘saber, so he can’t really tell.

“We’re not allies.”

“I know.”

“We’re not friends.”

“I know! You stabbed me!”

“It was an accident,” she snaps.

He glances at his saber—hooked to her belt, out of his reach—and draws a ragged breath, trying to push himself up to sit against the icy cave wall.

“And my orders are to bring you in alive,” she finishes, voice distorted through her Mandalorian helmet. He wonders if it was hers, or if she killed a Mandalorian and took it. “Why, I don't know. You’d suck as an Inquisitor. Hold still.”

She sticks her saber into a fissure in the wall and bends down, then grabs his shirt, tearing the hole in the orange fabric wider and slapping a bacta patch on the wound.

“Ow!”

“Move. I need to see the exit wound. Do you think I hit any internal organs?”

“No.” He hisses, teeth clenched, as she roughly seizes his shoulder and pulls him forward to look at the saber injury on his back.

“Good.”

“Kanan will find me soon,” Ezra snaps.

“Your Master is trapped on the other side of this cave-in. He’s not coming for you.”

“Well we’re trapped in the cave-in, genius!”

She doesn’t seem to have a counterargument. She rocks back on her heels, then sits opposite him. The icy wind howls through the crack, and he shivers.

“It’s cold,” he observes, after a while.

The Inquisitor scoffs. “That doesn’t sound like my problem.”

———

Thirteenth Sister’s helmet keeps her face warm, but even her thick bodysuit can’t keep out the cold forever.

Which is why she’s currently—humiliatingly—huddled up next to the apprentice, their sides pressing together, her cape wrapped around their shoulders like a blanket.

He stares straight ahead, vibrant eyes full of anger, and she thinks about encouraging the emotion. Then he looks to the side, glaring right at her, and she turns away quickly, becoming uncomfortably aware that he knows she’d been staring at him.

He scowls harder, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Your haircut is horrible,” she says, weakly fishing for some insult. It’s a mistake; as she speaks, another breath of cold wind blasts through the crack and she shivers, causing her voice to tremble in the middle of her sentence.

Thirteenth curls closer to him. She knows her armor must be poking into his side but she doesn’t care.

He’s warm.

He finally turns his head to face her directly and his rush of annoyance burns hot in the Force. She glares back at him. The anger is pulsing, humming. She feels it in her beskar and her bones.

Even lit by her scarlet saber, still stuck in the wall, his eyes shine blue.

She realizes she’s lowered her shields when he strikes out, tentatively, mentally shoving at her. Thirteenth locks her shields down and pushes back. It’s not a mental battle. It’s barely a scuffle. Their presences come together, swatting and shoving and maybe there’s a little bit of telepathic name calling.

They’re so close. Inches apart.

Then their presences—knotted, twined together, fighting—merge. It’s like someone yanked at a tangled mess of yarn and it wove itself into a rope.

Thirteenth Sister's heart leaps into her throat as she realizes—oh, manda, it’s a bond.

Her saber flickers, sparks, and dies.

They’re left in the cold darkness.

The night vision on her helmet fizzles to life, and she can see the apprentice turn away. It takes her a second longer to adapt. It’s silent and still, but Thirteenth’s heartbeat is pounding in her ears. Her breath comes heavy and fast.

The wind roars again.

This time, it’s the apprentice who curls closer to her. Their knees bump together and she can imagine Eleventh Sister’s hysterical cackle and screech of “Oh gods, you cuddled with a Jedi—pff, was he cute?”

“We’re not friends,” she insists again, trying to ignore the funny feeling in her chest.

IV. LOTHAL

4 BBY

“Thirteenth Sister.”

She gathers all the terror knotting her stomach and shoves it away, keeping her head bowed as she replies, “Lord Vader.”

“Where is the Grand Inquisitor?”

“Dead, Lord Vader. An explosion in a Destroyer’s reactor core. He… fell.”

Her throat tightens minutely.

“He let go,” she amends—don’t lie to Lord Vader—and the pressure vanishes. “He could not live with his failure.”

She risks a glance up at the hologram, but Vader’s mask is unreadable. Thirteenth Sister wishes she had her helmet on, too. Without it, she shows too much. Feels too much.

“A wise choice,” Vader intones darkly, and she suppresses a shudder. Something brushes against her senses, grating like sandpaper—an analysis, cold and calculating.

It seizes a memory and her heart drops to her stomach.

The apprentice, losing his balance, falling towards the explosion, and her, reaching out, seizing his hand, pulling him to safety.

A knee-jerk reaction. She wouldn’t have done it if she’d been thinking. She wouldn’t. But it doesn't matter. Vader knows.

She should have jumped too.

“You have two months.”

She jerks in surprise, staring up at the hologram.

“What?”

“You have two months to find the insurgents. If you have not produced results by then… I will handle the situation myself.”

She bows quickly, nearly knocked off her feet with relief. Two months. “Yes, Lor—”

“Remember, I want the Jedi alive. Do as you will with the others.”

“Y—”

“Be careful, Thirteenth Sister. Compassion is a weakness.”

He ends the call before she can reply.

V. UNNAMED MEDICAL STATION

4 BBY

“Just because I told Seventh Sister to stop creeping on you, doesn’t make us friends.”

“Yep.”

“She does that to everyone, me calling her out on it has nothing to do with you. We’re enemies.”

“Yep.”

VI. THE REVENGE

3 BBY

“—and she just, she, stars I hate her!”

“What’d she do to make you so mad?”

“Ugh! Lord Vader favors her even though she’s unreliable and impulsive, and she thinks that because she used to be Emperor’s Hand she gets special treatment, and ‘Lev is so soft when it comes to her, she always wins when they spar because he’s too nice—”

Someone bangs on the door. “ ‘Ey! Quiet down in there!”

Thirteenth Sister (“My friends call me ‘Teen, but we’re—” “Not friends. I know.”) snarls, leaning her head back in frustration.

The problem with that is that they’re currently tied together with about twenty feet of rope, back-to-back, in a grimy little cell on a grimy little ship, waiting for the pirates to try and contact the Empire for ransom/bounty money, and her beskar helmet smacks into the back of Ezra’s head.

He can feel the—the bond, waiting in the back of his mind. It’s always more present whenever he gets near her.

He hasn’t told Kanan.

What could he say?

That he somehow befriended a minion of evil? That he—he looks forward to missions where they see each other, because it’s become an unspoken thing: they fight, but not to kill? And… he can sense it, sometimes, when she first sees him whenever they meet—a muffled burst of happiness winding down the bond.

She might deny it, but they are friends.

They've come a long way since Alamass.

———

The apprentice leans back, craning his neck to sort-of look at her. “Psst.”

She turns her head.

“What’s an Emperor’s Hand?”

Oops.

“You don’t get to know,” she says sharply, ignoring how his soft hair tickles the bit of exposed skin on her neck. He’s cut it a little shorter since the last time she saw him. It’s… nice.

“Why not?”

“None of your business.”

He's annoying her on purpose, but it's working.

“Pleeeease tell me?”

“No.”

He smiles crookedly and leans over, bonking the side of his head against her helmet. “It’s not nice to keep secrets from your frieeeends.”

The ropes around their arms and torsos really limit their range of movement, but she manages to elbow him in the ribs. It's a poor distraction from how her heart cramps up at the affectionate gesture, no matter how fake it was, but at least it's a distraction.

“We’re enemies!” she says, hoping her voice doesn't crack.

“Besties.”

VII. FORTRESS INQUISITORIUS — NUR

3 BBY

“Lord Vader.”

“Twelfth Sister.”

The young girl bows formally.

“What is your urgent message?” Vader demands. This better not be about Thirteenth Sister again.

“As you are aware, Thirteenth Sister has spent two years pursuing the Lothal Jedi.”

Oh, brother.

Twelfth Sister lowers her voice. “In that time, I believe she has become compromised. I have reason to think she and the Padawan you sent her to hunt down have formed a… an attachment. ”

He stares at her.

Yeah, no duh. What clued you in, the longing gazes or Eleventh Sister's wingmanning? a voice that sounds too much like Anakin Skywalker snickers.

Vader ignores the voice and its message and says, “Do you have proof of this claim, Twelfth Sister?”

Rather reluctantly, Twelfth Sister produces a holodisc and hands it over.

“Unfortunately, I was too late to capture more incriminating evidence,” she falters. “This is all I got.”

“You are dismissed,” Vader says, pocketing the holodisc without looking at it.

Twelfth Sister bows again and hurries out of the room.

Vader sits down thoughtfully.

Twelfth Sister has a strong distaste for Thirteenth Sister. It could be simply an attempt to undermine her.

But… he has observed Thirteenth Sister’s interactions with the Padawan. Twelfth’s complaint is not completely without merit. There had been moments…

Vader draws the holodisc back out of his pocket, contemplates it for a second, and then crushes it in his fist.

There is nothing to suspect, he tells himself as he shattered remains of the holodisc drop to the floor, and doesn’t think about a lifetime ago, when Anakin Skywalker (not Vader, they are not the same) kept his own secret.

Nothing at all to suspect.

VIII. THE PHANTOM

2 BBY

“Ahsoka?”

Ahsoka Tano smiles, beckoning the young man inside the Phantom. “Ezra. Come on in.”

“You said you needed my help with repairs?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” She slides out from under the control panel—she had been doing maintenance, it wasn't a total lie. “About your contact.”

His eyes get wide. “Oh—”

“I won't ask who it is,” she reassures him. “I know they want to be anonymous. But their information has been invaluable so far. Do you think they might be willing to be a more regular informant? Under the Fulcrum alias.”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “No. They, um, they don't really care about the Rebels. The intel is—well, it's because they're my friend.”

Ahsoka stares for a second, then sighs and pinches her brow. “It's the Inquisitor girl, isn't it?”

“Yeah.”

IX. GAREL

2 BBY

The Rebels are escaping by the time the Empire arrives.

Which has absolutely nothing to do with the nonstop telepathic nagging Thirteenth Sister has been sending down the bond since the second the Imperials jumped to hyperspace.

And she's not relieved to see the Ghost disappear just as they enter the atmosphere of Garel.

Eleventh Sister stands next to her on the bridge of the light cruiser. The bond between the two young women is weak, but there's enough of it there for 'Ven to project music into Thirteen's head, probably without trying. She might be doing it on purpose. Today, it's been a nonstop loop of Hooked on a Feeling.

She and Eleventh take a shuttle down to the planet to examine the spaceport for clues. 'Ven is slightly psychometric, which is good sometimes (when they're looking for Rebels) and bad other times (when Eleventh's hand brushes Thirteenth's cape right after the mission on Alamass.)

The landing pad is mostly empty, but something silver glints on the ground. Thirteenth makes sure 'Ven is distracted and picks it up; it's a thin chain with a round pendant clearly made from scrap metal dangling from it.

The other side of the pendant slowly spins around and her eyes widen. Against her best efforts, she grins, because she knows it was left behind on purpose, for her.

Scratched onto the metal in scribbley handwriting are three words, stacked on top of each other. They're all off-center in different directions.

BEST

ENEMIES

FOREVER

“Ooh, what's that!” Eleventh shouts, jumping up and grabbing it before Thirteenth can hide it. She cackles.

“Give it back,” Thirteenth demands shortly.

Eleventh hushes her, then closes her eyes, clutches the pendant in her bare hand, and promptly starts laughing again.

Thirteenth sighs. Might as well ask. “What do you see?”

Eleventh giggles, holding out her hand. Thirteenth slips off her glove and lets Eleventh project the memory.

The bond is too weak to fully share the scene, but Thirteenth can hear two voices talking.

She knows both of them, for very different reasons.

“Ooo-ooh, what'cha got there?”

“None of your business.”

“Is that for your girlfriend?”

“She's not my—hey! Tris-tan , give it back!”

“What's this? 'best enemies forever'? It is for her! Aw, kid, I had no idea you two were so seriou—OW! Man! That was a cheap move!”

“Ha! Sucks to be YOU!”

The memory ends and 'Ven doubles over in laughter, again, but Thirteenth is staring in horror.

“Tristan?” she repeats.

“Yeah. Oh, hey, that's your brother's name!” Eleventh grins. Then her face goes slack. “…oh gods, that's your brother's name.”

“Spectre Five is a Mandalorian,” Thirteenth Sister realizes. The unpainted armor and voice modulator in the helmet—and she had never really been near Spectre Five, never talked to him, there was no chance for her to notice. “It's him.”

“Oh, gods,” Eleventh Sister repeats again, grabbing onto Thirteenth Sister's arms. “Spectre Five is your brother, do you know what this means?!”

For a second, Thirteenth Sister expects something important, but Eleventh's lips twitch and her jaw trembles as she futilely fights a smile. Thirteenth groans, waiting for the punchline.

“Spectres Five and Six are—” Eleventh squeaks, choking on a laugh— “They're gonna be brothers-in-law.”

Well, there's the line.

Thirteenth Sister does the punch.

Chapter Text

X. ONOAM

2 BBY

Ezra is bored out of his mind.

There’s only so much he can do while he waits for the contact, who should have shown up half an hour ago. He walked around the square, window-shopped a little (not that there’s much to buy on Naboo’s poor mining moon,) and eventually bought an ice cream from a street vendor and settled down on a bench to wait.

He’s finished the ice cream cone and is trying to fold the paper wrapper into a lopsided triangle when someone sits down on the bench next to him.

“Hey! Sorry I’m so late, my dad almost caught me sneaking out and I had to convince him I was running errands,” says a voice that’s just a little bit familiar.

He looks over and sees the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

Her arm loops through his and she pulls him to his feet and starts walking, talking the whole time.

Female, human, about your age, was the information Ahsoka had given him, which fit this girl, but she’d also said the informant was an Imperial officer.

This young woman is about as un-Imperial as she could get.

She radiates happiness. Her hair, clothing, and even the cloth wrap around her lower face to filter out the smog are all brilliantly colored. She looks like…

She looks like a normal young woman, which is probably the point.

He realizes she’s stopped talking and is looking at him.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, berating himself for not paying attention.

“Oh, I was just saying how bad the air is today. I thought it would be better this time of year.”

Right. The code phrase.

“It was worse yesterday,” he says, and her arm tightens around him.

“I wasn’t joking, earlier,” she hisses. “My superior officer almost caught me leaving. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Her hand slips down to hold his and he feels her press a datastick against his palm.

“I couldn’t get all the information Fulcrum requested, but here’s most of it.”

“Most is good,” he says, because his brain is not working and a pretty girl is holding his hand.

Her voice gets even lower and she leans close. “There’s more. I can’t confirm it completely, but I’ve heard some of the higher-ups talking about—” she looks around, and pulls him even closer to whisper— “Jedi survivors.”

His eyes widen. How much did she risk to learn this?

“Listen carefully. I have a list. A Rutian Twi’lek female, accompanied by one or more clones, location unknown. Togruta female, probably on Felucia. Kel Dor male, spotted hiring a ship to Seelos. Two humans, a young man and a middle-aged woman, traveling with a Latero male, a humanoid female—unknown species—and maybe a renegade Inquisitor. Two Mirialans, posing as mother and daughter. Approximately half a dozen young adults of various species, claiming to be a theatrical circus troupe. And a Kiffar male and a humanoid female, last seen wherever something big explodes. Got it?”

His head is spinning from trying to absorb all that information at once. “Can you write that down?”

“No. Word-of-mouth only, directly to your Fulcrum.”

“Do you at least have names?”

She sighs, then quickly recites a list of names that sounds like “sacoorateekunestisjundunduleeffeevosandidunnotheyounglingsnames.” He nods rapidly, deciding he’ll just go with the descriptions because he has no idea what the heck she just said.

“I’ve got to go now,” she says, and starts to drop his hand and turn away.

“Wait,” he blurts out. She does, looking at him curiously.

“Um. I, uh. I don’t know your name.”

“Then call me Arueté,” she says, smiling like she’s in on a joke, and vanishes into the crowd.

Arueté. It’s smooth and rolling and sounds like the name of the Naboo woman Ahsoka talks to sometimes, but he could swear he’s heard it used as a word before.

The crowd shifts and he sees her one last time, looking over her shoulder at him. She raises her hand in a little wave, and then is gone. He realizes his heart is feeling all fluttery.

I am never telling Tristan about this.

XI. THE GHOST

2 BBY

“Woo- woo!”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, man! You’re a real two-timer, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“One cute spy comes along and all of a sudden your poor girlfriend is completely forgotten…”

“Tristan.”

“You know, I used to be disappointed we don’t have a holoscreen, but who need soap operas when I’ve got you?”

“TRISTAN!”

XII. FORTRESS INQUISITORIUS — NUR

2 BBY

“I'm doomed.”

The stiff mattress bounces as Eleventh Sister hops onto the bunk, crossing her legs and forcing Thirteenth Sister to squish herself against the far wall or have a knee stuck into her gut.

“Don’t be a drama queen. Face your problems like a Mandalorian.”

“Make me,” Thirteenth Sister replies childishly, hiding her face under the pillow.

So, the situation is definitely (a) serious and (b) involving the Padawan, if Thirteenth’s acting like a ten-year-old.

“…what are your problems, anyway?”

Thirteenth Sister mumbles something. Eleventh moves closer.

“What?”

“I think I’m in love.”

Eleventh Sister resists the urge to shout “OHMIGOSH YES CALLED IT” at the top of her lungs.

“That’s definitely a problem,” she says calmly, playing dumb even though they can both totally see through it. “Who with?”

The pillow moves and Thirteenth Sister shoots her a withering glare with her one visible eye. Eleventh doesn’t miss how Thirteenth’s hand is clutching a silvery-colored pendant.

“You know who.”

“Mhm. Your best enemy?”

“I hate this,” Thirteenth Sister complains. “I hate getting all warm and fuzzy. I hate it. I hate feelings, I hate Twelfth Sister, and I hate his stupid face.”

Eleventh Sister is trying to be helpful, really, but she can’t help leaning in and crooning, “Do you wanna kiss him?”

The pillow hits her in the face hard enough to send her tumbling off the bunk and onto the floor.

“So is that a yes?”

XIII. FORTRESS INQUISITORIUS — NUR

2 BBY

“Lord Vader.”

“No.”

“But—”

“I am aware of what your message is, Twelfth Sister. I simply do not care.”

Twelfth Sister stares in bug-eyed astonishment as he uses the Force to slide her backwards out the door.

XIV. NARAKA

2 BBY

“Jedi.”

Ezra jumps at the voice. He looks to Tristan, Zeb, and Chopper. Tristan waves him off, and Ezra gives him a brief smile of thanks.

He takes his saber off his belt and turns around as the others make their way inside the prison.

Thirteenth Sister is standing on the platform, a couple paces away. He briefly wonders how she got so close without him noticing, but then she ignites her blade and jumps forward. He blocks the strike, and the sabers spark as they crash together—red and green.

“New lightsaber?” she asks.

“Twelfth broke the old one.”

“Good.” They circle each other slowly on the open platform. “I never liked it, anyway.”

“No, you were jealous your lightsaber didn’t have a gun in it.”

Strike, block, dodge.

“Maybe a little.”

In a move that’s pure chance, he catches her blade against his own in an erratic swing and sends it spinning away.

She’s as surprised as he is because that was way cooler than anything he's been able to do before, and she stumbles forward, running right into him and sending them both crashing to the ground. He falls flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and she lands halfway on top of him.

For a second all he can do is gasp for breath, but then Thirteenth Sister sits up, propping herself up with an arm sideways across his chest. She looks down at him.

Neither of them speak. A strange feeling winds down the bond. Then she tilts her head teasingly, pokes his chin with a finger, and asks, “Are you doing anything this Taungsday?”

He blinks.

Did—did she just ask him out?

Thirteenth Sister sends a feeling of can’t believe you fell for that, sucker down the bond, then jumps up and runs in the opposite direction.

“Hey!” he sputters, scrambling to his feet and running after her, not thinking about how his face flames. “That’s not fair! You—I thought you were serious! Get back here!”

“See ya ‘round, cyar’ika!” she shouts over her shoulder.

XV. FORTRESS INQUISITORIUS — NUR

2 BBY

“ ‘Ven, promise not to get all… screechy?”

“Cross my heart.”

Thirteenth Sister covers her face with her hands, radiating a butt-ton of embarrassment through her bond with Eleventh. “I called him cyar’ika.”

It’s involuntary. Eleventh screeches.

XVI. THE GHOST

2 BBY

“Psst.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tristan.”

“Shut uuuup.”

“Tristan!”

“Let me sleeeeeep.”

“Fine. You leave me no choice.”

Ezra leans over so he’s hanging upside-down from his bunk and starts singing right in Tristan’s face.

“Ba-by nerf do do do-do-do-do baby nerf do do do—”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”

Ezra leans farther over the bunk. “What does cyar’ika mean?”

Tristan stares at him like he wants to commit a felony. “You’re waking me up in the middle of the night to ask about Mando’a pet names?”

With a loud crash, Ezra loses his balance and falls down onto the floor.

“Mando’a WHAT?”

XVII. IMPERIAL CENTER

1 BBY

“So let me get this straight. You hypothetically like this guy, but you don’t know if he likes you.”

“Yes. Hypothetically,” the Inquisitor adds redundantly.

“And you—hypothetically, I know—are wondering if I can help you to… not embarrass yourself in front of him. And figure out if he likes you. Hypothetically.”

She nods awkwardly. “I wasn’t really sure who I should ask. ‘Lev is oblivious and ‘Ven just gives me holodrama quotes… you’re the only other friendly face I could think of.”

Friendly face. Ha. First time someone described him like that.

He takes his helmet off and rubs at his scar, then drops into one of the plushy couches in the deserted lounge room that he’s technically not allowed to be in.

“Ma’am, are you aware that, during the Clone War, I served under the worst flirt in the whole GAR?”

Her shoulders slump, relieved, as she takes his answer for the yes that it is.

“Oh, Force, thank you, Cody.”

XVIII. ATOLLON

1 BBY

“Hey, Rex?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you for some advice?”

“Sure, kid.”

“Um, so, there’s this girl—”

XIX. ORD MANTELL

1 BBY

Thirteenth Sister—except right now she’s Aruetii, with her vibrant clothes and colorful wig—waits in the darkest corner of the dark cantina with a fluorescent drink that she’s pretty sure is non-alcoholic.

The first time she handed over information to the Rebels, she felt queasy. Now she looks forward to every meetup, and not just because she sees all the good the Rebels are doing with her information.

She thinks Cody might know about her spying. (Eleventh definitely does; she's actually been gathering information for Thirteenth, though it's likely more “for the ship” than anything else.) Thirteenth is making sure Cody has plausible deniability, just in case, but he was the one who suggested she meet her “friend” at this place—owned by a suspected Rebel sympathizer and informant—and told her where to go to get good food. His information is unfortunately about two decades out of date, and most of it is just clone-friendly diners, but some of the places he told her about are still here.

The parlor’s owner, a portly, abrasive Trandoshan, approaches her.

“You waitin’ for someone, sweetheart?” she asks in her gravelly voice.

“He’ll be here,” Thirteenth replies.

“Hmph,” the woman grumbles, then leans in and drops her voice. “Blue eyes, dark hair, wears too much orange?”

Thirteenth Sister looks up.

“He’s waitin’ in the back. Too many Stormies around. C’mon.”

She stands and follows the Trandoshan woman to the back room, and there he is, sitting on a stack of crates.

He brightens when he sees her, and it takes so much effort to keep her shields thick enough that he doesn’t realize who she is. She feels bad about lying to him, but it’s for the best. The fewer people know, the better.

“Arueté,” he grins, and she doesn’t correct the pronunciation.

“Bridger,” she replies.

“Awright, I’m out,” the Trandoshan grumbles, making her way out of the back room.

“You’re a real one, Cid!” the apprentice calls after her, and she waves away the thanks. “Oh, and Rex says hi!”

Thirteenth Sister sits next to him and for half a second they’re quiet. Then she pulls yet another datastick out of her pocket and holds it out. It’s routine by now.

He takes it, fingers brushing against hers.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing, superstar.”

He blushes and she laughs, treasuring the warm feeling in her chest. It’s too easy to start teasing him.

“You got anywhere to be?” she asks. He shakes his head, a little grin forming on his lips. “Well, I’m starving, and I’ve heard the food’s pretty good around here. Wanna go grab something?”

He smiles so wide she thinks his face might break.

XX. THE GHOST

1 BBY

“Thought you should know, your ringtone on my comm ‘I Won’t Say (I’m in Love)’ .”

“Tristan, I am this close to restarting the Jedi-Mandalorian wars.”

XXI. FORTRESS INQUISITORIUS — NUR

1 BBY

“Oh gods oh gods you went on a date.”

“It wasn’t—”

“You went on a date with the Jedi!”

“…please stop screaming.”

XXII. ALAMASS

1 BBY

If Ezra had a credit for every time he got trapped in a tiny ice cave on Alamass with Thirteenth Sister, he’d have two credits. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.

They stand there for a few seconds. He's pretty sure they're both thinking, how many times is this going to happen?

Then Thirteenth Sister sighs, sits down, and holds out one side of her cape.

He laughs and sits next to her. She settles the cape—and her arm—around his shoulders and pulls him against her side, and he finds that he's surprised at the gesture. It's gentle and—and affectionate.

“It's cold,” she says, by way of explanation, but there's something about the way she leans into his side that hints at a deeper reason.

“How long until the Elevens dig us out, do you think?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

Rex had said that the best policy in general when it came to girls was just to be nice. (He also said “for the love of the Force, please don’t talk about sand,” which was weird, but whatever.) And, maybe Ezra had been asking about Arueté, not Thirteenth Sister, but he figures it still applies. So he puts his arm around her, and they sit quietly together.

Time passes. He can feel something from her end of the bond, something like conflict.

Eventually, she speaks.

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he asks, confused.

She plows onward. “I should have told you, I know that, but I thought it was better if I didn't, because it was supposed to be secret and Fulcrum sort of instructed me not to tell anyone but then there was—we had this thing—”

Ezra interrupts her. “I don't understand.”

Thirteenth Sister sighs, then pulls her arm away from where it's draped over his shoulders. She reaches up and takes off her helmet, and as she does, she says, “In Mando'a, Aruetii means betrayer.”

Her hair is jet-black and her eyes have none of the same sparkle, but—it’s her.

Aruetii.

Arueté.

It was a pun.

Smiling softly, she looks up at him and says, “Hey, hotshot.”

He’s not blushing.

He’s not.

XXIII. THE GHOST

1 BBY

“Uh… whatcha doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Garazeb?”

“It looks like you’re spraying a whole can of silly string into Tristan’s helmet.”

“Exactly.”

“…why?”

“He figured out that Thirteen and Arueté were the same person a whole year ago and didn’t tell me. This means war.”

XXIV. MALACHOR

1 BBY

Thirteenth Sister launches herself from the decaying stone pillar, feeling the still air whistle past her helmet as she silently drops. The free fall is adrenaline-filled, weightless, and exactly how she feels when she sees—nope, not the time to think about that.

She cushions her landing with the Force, putting herself directly between the scarlet Zabrak and the apprentice.

The apprentice jumps, startled, drawing his lightsaber, but he smiles when he sees her.

It's been almost three weeks since he learned she was the informant, and they've only seen each other once since then. He was acting… different, then. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and then looking away when he realized she’d noticed.

Thirteenth Sister tries not to think about what that means.

“Arueté,” he says, calling her by the only name he knows. “Maul—don’t worry, she’s a… friend.”

“No I’m not,” she replies automatically.

“You like to think th—”

“Get back.” Thirteenth’s grip tightens on the hilt of her blade. She steps to the side, keeping herself between Maul and the apprentice.

The apprentice’s presence flares with confusion and anger. The dark emotions coming from him… they feel wrong.

“Why is everyone so suspicious of him?”

“Do you know who this is?” she demands.

“Yeah! Maul! But he’s not a Sith! …anymore.”

She circles slowly, saber hilt raised, ready to ignite and strike. Maul has no visible weapon, but she has no doubt he’s armed.

“She doesn’t care about that, my apprentice,” Maul says, sounding far frailer than she knows he is, and she does not like the tone of his voice when he says my apprentice. “She is… Mandalorian. I’m afraid her quarrel with me…” He sighs, and she knows it’s fake. “…has very little to do with the Sith.”

The apprentice’s eyes look away from Maul for just a second, and Maul smirks at her.

He’s corrupting the apprentice, Thirteenth realizes, and he’s gloating about it.

Over my dead body.

She ignites one end of her lightsaber.

“You took over my planet,” she snaps, leveling her saber at his face. “My mother fought your forces during the Siege of Mandalore. And she kicked your butt.”

Maul flicks his lightsaber on and smiles toothily.

“Woah, wait.” The apprentice steps between them. “We don’t need to fight right now.”

“Stay back,” she and Maul snap at the same, then glare at each other.

The apprentice looks from one to the other, and nervously takes a step back. “Don’t kill each other please.”

“No promises,” Thirteenth Sister spits, and hurls herself at the once-Sith.

Maul blocks her strike. She’s fought the apprentice too much; the easy benevolence of their fights has put her out of practice, and Maul is fast. He’s old, he shouldn’t be able to fight this well!

Thirteenth Sister is losing to a washed-up old Sith.

For a second she sees an opening, but then a crushing pressure grips her throat. She drops her saber and reaches up towards her neck, even though she knows she can’t do a thing about it.

“Maul, stop,” the apprentice insists as she thrashes in the invisible hold. “Put her down. Stop!”

“She is an apprentice of the Sith!”

“She’s my friend!”

Spots cloud her vision and her mind as Maul and the apprentice argue, both burning with anger, and all she can think is that by the time the apprentice realizes she is being strangled, not just held aloft, she will be dead.

“Ezra,” she chokes, gasping his name like it was the only thing she ever called him, so soft that even she can barely hear it.

And she does something she has never, ever done before.

She shatters her own shields and lets her feelings pour down the bond like a flooded river.

His eyes are terrified as he spins around to look at her. A second later, his lightsaber is in his hand and pointing at Maul.

“Let her go!”

“Apprentice…”

Maul’s Force-hold loosens, not enough to let her go, but enough to let her breathe, and she coughs, gasping for breath. She will have bruises around her neck for a long time.

“…do you care for this Inquisitor?”

He says nothing.

And that says everything.

An emotion she can’t name (actually, she could if she wanted to) swells in her chest, and she looks up at him to find that he is looking right back at her.

Then she flies forward and a real hand grips her neck, squeezing hard.

Thirteenth sees what is about to happen before it does.

Maul is going to kill her here—strangle her or snap her neck, either or both—in front of the apprentice, so the Dark can creep farther into his soul.

The apprentice will fight for her; already his lightsaber is drawn and he surges forward.

But the apprentice is as out of practice as she is—and he doesn’t know how to draw on the Dark for strength.

Maul strikes the blade from the apprentice's hand easily, then sends him flying into the side of the Sith temple with a sweep of his hand, still gripping Thirteenth by the throat. A crushing wave of pain rushes down the bond as the apprentice collapses to the ground. She can feel it—Maul is invading the apprentice’s mind, clawing through every shield and barrier. Maul has given up on tricking the apprentice to the Dark side and is forcing the Fall.

She knows the tactic. The Grand Inquisitor tried it on her, when she first was brought to the Inquisitorius.

She remembers her own fear, her own pain, her own helpless anger, and feels the same emotions pouring from him like blood from a wound.

She can feel herself succumbing to the beckoning darkness edging in on her senses. Lev’ will mourn her. ‘Ven will rage. And someday, the apprentice will forget she even existed.

The only thing keeping her from giving in is that she knows she is the apprentice’s only hope, and Thirteenth Sister cannot spend her last moments feeling his mind be ripped apart.

With the last of her strength, she takes the EMP grenade off her belt and activates it.

Electricity courses through her—but more importantly, through Maul and his cybernetic legs—and her mind goes dark.

———

The pain is the first thing to reach her senses, followed by a voice.

The apprentice’s voice, indistinct.

Then she feels his touch, frantic, worried; cool air dusts her face with ashes as he pulls her helmet off.

“Arueté! Arueté, please, come on, come on, stay with me—”

Thirteenth takes a breath as prickles of Light run through her. It’s the Force—and more than that, it’s him. He’s feeding her strength, healing the burns, washing the pain away. His hand presses over her heart. She can feel him willing it to beat steady.

Her life is in his hands, and his life is in her soul.

Thirteenth takes the Light he gives her and fortifies it with her own Darkness, and speaks.

“Hngvhhh.”

Granted, it’s not her best line.

“You’re awake!”

“Mmmhm. Didja kiss me?” she slurs, and tries to wink at him. Thirteen can’t feel her eyelids right now and her vision is wonky, so she has no idea if it worked.

“You were electrocuted.” His deadpan reply doesn’t hide his blush, or his relieved smile—probably that she’s okay enough to make dumb jokes. “Now, if you’d been cursed, I might’ve tried it.”

She gives him a weak grin. “Man, I gotta get cursed.”

He stares at her for a second, then decides not to take her seriously. “Very funn—”

“LOOK OUT!”

The grenade did its work, frying Maul’s legs, but he’s not completely done for. Over the apprentice’s shoulder, she can see him rise up, raising his lightsaber.

It slices downwards, and they would have both been cut in half if the apprentice hadn’t grabbed her around the middle and rolled out of the way.

They tumble over each other and she comes out on top of him, and as Maul advances, she does the only thing she can.

She flings out her hand and shoves him backwards off the side of the Temple.

Physically, Thirteenth is weak, but her pain and protective fury have never made her stronger in the Force. She can sense Maul redoubling his efforts to claw at the apprentice’s head, and enfolds the apprentice’s mind within her own hastily-rebuilt shields. There’s nothing separating her thoughts from his anymore, but she has no time to worry about secrets.

Maul is out.

Ezra is safe.

“Can you run?” she asks.

He nods, eyes wide, and she realizes she’s still on top of him.

“Good,” Thirteenth says, rolling off to the side. “Because I can’t. Help me.”

Ezra wraps an arm around her and pulls her to her feet, and together they flee.

Her helmet is still lying on the ground back there, she realizes—she’ll need to go back for it. Later. Not yet.

They round a corner of the Sith temple and he slows to a jog, then a walk. They’re both gasping for breath, and he starts to laugh. It’s infectious.

“What’s so funny?” she demands, even as she giggles.

“Maul.” He makes a pushing gesture with his hand. “You threw a Sith lord. You threw a Sith lord.” He sighs, chuckling, then takes a deep breath and yells, “GET YEETED, SUCKER!”

It’s not even funny but she cracks up, tripping on her own weak legs and sagging against his side, accidentally shoving him against the side of the temple, which only makes him laugh harder.

“Yote,” she corrects, gasping for breath. “It’s yote.”

“GET YOTE, SUCKER! No, no, it doesn’t sound right. GET YOTED, SUC—”

Ezra can’t even finish, he’s laughing so hard.

“GET YEETETH’D!” she contributes, and he wheezes, face-planting into her shoulder, and she laughs so hard her chest aches.

They’re in a feedback loop, she realizes. Without shields to separate them, their emotions feed into each other through the bond.

It takes a long time, but the moment still fades and the giggles die out, even if the bond is wide open. They’re both trying to catch their breath, red-faced and teary-eyed from laughing.

His chest rises and falls beneath her hands and quite suddenly she realizes how close they are.

Thirteenth Sister takes a half-step back—her legs are strong enough now, if just barely—and looks at him. He rubs the laughing-tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand and leans his head back against the temple, staring up at the far-away ceiling. There is something about his presence right now that is so beautiful that she can't tell if her heart is racing or if it's stopped beating completely.

He realizes she's looking at him, and he smiles, leaning forward until their foreheads bump together and the very tip of his nose touches hers—she wonders if he knows what it means. His lips are parted slightly as he breathes, flushed from giddy glee, and his eyes shine.

There has been banter and nicknaming and hand-holding that lasts a little too long to just be about passing off a datastick, but nothing he has ever done has made her feel quite so in love as this gentle keldabe.

His sweet smile is breaking her, and she finds she is sure of nothing at all, nothing in the whole galaxy, except for the certain, undeniable fact that she desperately wants to knot her hands in Ezra Bridger's ugly orange jacket and kiss him senseless.

It’s more than a fleeting impulse. It’s an ache in her chest, a staccato heartbeat crushing her lungs, so overpowering that she’s not certain she can resist the desperate desire to press her lips to his, over and over again until he kisses her like she kisses him, every last consequence—good and bad—forgotten in reckless abandon.

Her fingers start to curl in the garish cloth.

It’s such a bad idea.

Oh, why couldn’t she be wearing her helmet?

Thirteenth is certain that he will not push her away. It’s unspoken but there—through the bond, she can sense the depth of his feelings, she always could and now she finally admits it—but too much will change. It’s a temptation, a distraction, that’s as dangerous to him as it is to her.

She locks the dream away to return to and remember in solitude. No one will know; not Vader, not Eleventh Sister (not for a couple days, at least; ‘Ven is too invested in this to not find out,) and certainly not Ez—

Her train of thought ends in a fifty-car pileup with multiple explosions and a gas fire as an arm wraps around her waist and warm, chapped lips press against her own.

It’s short and awkward and gentle and off-center and perfect.

Thirteenth Sister stares at Ezra, and Ezra stares at her.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, blushing bright red. “I don’t know why I did that—”

“Me neither,” she breathes, her last molecule of self control vanishing. “But manda, I'm glad you did.”

She grabs him by the jacket and pulls him forward, angling her head so that their noses don’t slam into each other. He’s not startled; he must have sensed her intent. He wraps his other arm around her and leans into the kiss with a soft sigh.

If the centuries-old petrified bodies that surround them could speak, they would condemn the embrace. The Sith would snarl traitor. The Jedi would accuse abomination.

Time, tradition, history—everything forbids this stolen moment.

Thirteenth Sister does not, and will never, care.

Kissing Ezra Bridger on the slope of a Sith temple is the best mistake she’s ever made.

———

“OUTTA MY WAY, YOU SITHY CYBORG FREAK!”

Leia is a force of nature when she’s mad, and Luke (he’ll never be Eleventh Brother inside his own head, and she’ll never be Eleventh Sister) watches in awe as she absolutely wrecks Maul.

For the rest of his life, he’ll treasure the look on the ex-Sith’s face as a four-foot-nine powerhouse with a button nose and doe eyes slices his metal legs into twenty-four pieces in three seconds and then chucks him off the side of the temple—seconds after he finished climbing back up.

“Hurry!” she hisses, grabbing Luke’s hand and pulling him along.

“What’s the big deal?” Luke asks, but his sister shushes him.

“Something’s happening!” she whispers, a maniacal gleam in her eye. “I can feel it! She’s not shielding our bond!”

“Who isn’t? Thirteenth? Is she okay?”

“Okay? You bet your butt she’s okay,” Leia snickers.

Leia rounds the corner of the Sith temple, only to freeze, grab Luke by the shoulders, and shove him backwards before he can see around the corner.

“Oh gods yes,” she whispers gleefully, and presses a hand over Luke’s mouth to keep him from talking, then slowly pulls him over so they’re both just peeking around the corner.

Luke feels like someone hit him in the face with a live fish and told him the Emperor was seven tookas in a trenchcoat.

The Jedi apprentice has his arms wrapped tightly around Thirteenth Sister. Her hands are tangled in his hair. They’re kissing.

Like, really kissing.

“What the heeeeeeck,” Luke whispers and Leia’s hand clamps tighter around his mouth.

Leia is trembling with diabolical delight.

Then Thirteenth Sister’s comm turns on. The couple breaks apart with a gasp, and Leia drags Luke back out of sight.

“Thirteenth Sister? Come in.”

“Ohmigosh I’m gonna kill her,” Leia hisses. “I’m gonna drag her into the training room and kick her butt so hard she won’t have any butt left to kick.”

“Thirteenth?”

“No! Twelfth! Stinkin’ moment killer! Next time I see her, I’m gonna rearrange her dental pattern.”

“Thirteenth!”

“What is it, Twelfth?!” Thirteenth snaps into the comm.

“You tell her, sister,” Leia whispers vindictively.

“I’ve been calling you over your helmet comm for the last three minutes! What’s going on?”

“The… oxygen filter got broken,” Thirteenth says—LIES, she had Luke help her fix her helmet once and that’s not even a thing. “I… had to take it off. Or I’d suffocate. You wouldn’t want that.”

“Yes I would,” Twelfth grumbles. “You should call the Elevens. When you didn’t answer your comm, they went looking for y—”

Thirteenth Sister hangs up on Twelfth.

“I need to leave,” Thirteenth says.

“Right.”

This time, Luke has to pull Leia back so she doesn’t get caught peeking around the corner.

They can hear Thirteenth’s steps move away, but then the footsteps stop and reverse course. Leia yanks away from Luke, who gives up and decides, fine, get yourself caught, see if I care, but then Leia pulls him forward and they both watch as Thirteenth Sister sweeps the apprentice up in her arms and gives him one last, furious, hungry kiss.

“See ya ‘round, sweetheart,” she murmurs, drifting away.

The apprentice sounds both giddy and dazed as he replies. “Okay.”

Thirteenth steps back, but her eyes drift past the apprentice, land on Leia, and widen in horror. She says something in Mando’a that would get her kicked out of polite company and books it in the opposite direction.

“I WAS RIGHT!” Leia screeches in Luke’s ear, shoving him aside and sprinting after Thirteenth Sister.

“I WAS RIGHT, THIRTEEN! YOU DENIED IT BUT I KNEWWW YOU WERE HIDING SOMETHING, OH, I KNEW IT! GET BACK HERE! TELL ME EVERYTHING!”

“No!”

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU TWO BEEN A COUPLE?”

“We're not!”

“HOW MANY TIMES DID YOU KISS?!”

“None of your business!”

“WERE THERE TONGUES?”

“You’re disgusting!”

“YES OR NO, THIRTEEN?!”

“NO! GO AWAY!”

They disappear around the far side of the Sith temple.

“A—Arueté!” the apprentice stammers. “Wait! You—we—”

Luke finds his voice and—looking back on it, he’ll never know why he said this—blurts out, “Actually her name’s Sabine.”

The apprentice stops and looks back at him.

“Huh. That’s Tristan’s sister’s name.” A second goes by, and the apprentice’s eyes get huge. “Oh karabast, that's Tristan’s sister’s name.”

XXV. MALACHOR

1 BBY

“LORD VA-DER—”

Chapter Text

XXVI. MALACHOR

1 BBY

“LORD VA-DER!”

In some uncommunicated, unanimous agreement, all three of them—Kanan, Ahsoka, and Vader—delay the beginning of the duel, turning to stare as a young woman with short scarlet hair and furious green eyes comes barrelling up the final slope and onto the temple’s plateau.

Vader heaves a sigh, a sound Kanan never thought he’d hear from the Sith. He’s broadcasting exasperation.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Twelfth?” he demands in a voice that sounds far too much like a tired parent.

“Thirteenth—she went after the Padawan—” the young Inquisitor pants, out of breath, and Kanan grimaces. Ezra and Thirteenth Sister were… he knew it was complicated, and Ezra hadn’t ever told him anything, but he had eyes.

“Called her—didn’t answer, Elevens went to find her, but—I was suspicious, so I followed them, and—and—” She bends over, gasping for breath.

“What, Twelfth?”

“Thirteenth Sister and the Padawan were kissing!”

Kanan barely has time to think well that explains the weird vibes down the bond before there’s the sound of running footsteps and a shout of “She’s lying!”

Two more Inquisitors appear over the edge of the plateau. The one in front is a young woman Kanan’s never seen before, and behind her is Eleventh Sister.

At the same moment, Ezra appears on the other side of the temple, Eleventh Brother hot on his heels.

“Yeah! Whatever she said, don’t believe it!”

They all crowd around Vader, Ahsoka, and Kanan, shouting over each other.

“Lord Vader, I’m telling the truth! I swear I saw it with my own eyes—”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yuh-huh!”

Vader—who is looking more and more like a tired parent as the seconds go by—puts his hands on his hips and bellows, “QUIET!”

All of them shut up instantly.

They’re standing in a circle; Vader is across from Kanan, Ahsoka and the three female Inquisitors are to Kanan’s left, and Ezra and Eleventh Brother are on his right.

Ahsoka has turned a deep ochre color. Kanan thinks she might be holding her breath so she doesn’t burst into laughter.

After a few seconds of silence, Ezra holds something out to the Inquisitor standing across from him.

“I found your helmet.”

Thirteenth Sister—because that’s who it is—takes it from him and tucks it beneath her arm.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Vader turns his head to stare at Thirteenth Sister.

“Explain.”

“Explain what?” she replies innocently.

“If Twelfth Sister is lying, then what were you doing?”

Thirteenth Sister stalls, and Kanan looks over at Ezra, who is very carefully not meeting his gaze.

Twelfth is telling the truth, isn’t she? he questions through the bond, and gets a stubborn silence in reply, which is good as a yes.

Vader draws a raspy breath and repeats, “What were you doing, Thirteenth?”

Twelfth glares at Thirteenth out of the corner of her eye and mutters, “making out,” then immediately doubles over as Thirteenth Sister drives an elbow into Twelfth’s stomach.

“We were not making out!” Ezra and Thirteenth snap at the same time.

“Yes you were,” Twelfth Sister immediately replies.

“No, we weren’t.”

“Um, yes.”

“I’m staying out of this,” Eleventh Brother mutters, taking a step back.

Thirteenth turns to Eleventh Sister, on her other side. “Ven! Back me up.”

Eleventh screws up her face and makes a so-so gesture with her hand, wobbling it back and forth. She speaks like she’s thinking it over carefully, but through the Force she’s glowing with mischief.

“Well, it was dark, and your hands were all up in his hair so I couldn’t really see what was goin’ on with your mouths, you know? It looked pretty intense to me, but you were the one getting in all the lip action, so I guess you know best, huh?”

“I hate you,” Ezra mutters, and then—

Chaos.

Twelfth is yelling, Thirteenth is yelling, both Elevens are yelling, Ahsoka’s cheeks are puffed out and her eyes are watering because she’s definitely trying not to laugh, and Ezra looks like he wants to sink into the floor.

“Whose side are you on?!”

“She admitted it! She admitted it!”

“Now that the secret’s out, can we talk about how my own sister apparently knew about this for how long and didn’t tell me?”

“It was obvious to anyone with eyes! Not my fault you’re clueless!”

“Well I’m also scarred for life because of all the things I didn’t want to see—”

“Okay, mister scarred-for-life, I guess I didn’t hear Vader’s astromech gossiping with the cleaning droids about you and Twelfth swapping spit in a broom closet, then?”

Everyone goes silent, except for Ahsoka, who squeaks out, “ ‘scuse me,” and runs off, barely keeping in her giggles until she’s out of earshot.

“That rumor,” Twelfth croaks, “was entirely fabricated.”

Even Kanan can tell by Eleventh Brother’s scarlet face that that’s a whopper of a lie.

“Darn it, Artoo,” Eleventh Brother mumbles.

Eleventh Sister cackles and bursts into song. “Luke and Ma-ra, sittin’ in a tree—”

Vader sighs deeply and shakes his head, crossing his arms.

“When we get back to Nur, we are all going to have a talk about the meaning of subtlety. I swear, none of you…” He sighs again and looks up at Kanan. “Is yours like this too?”

Kanan nods, because he’s not sure what else to do. He feels like he’s chatting with a fellow dad at some kind of parent-teacher conference. Except the “fellow dad” is a seven-foot-tall asthmatic cyborg.

Vader shakes his head, then turns around, cape billowing behind him. He beckons for the Inquisitors to follow, then starts—of all things—lecturing.

“I can turn a blind eye to some things, Thirteenth Sister, your contact with Fulcrum is proof of that—”

“What?!”

“—but if you don’t at least make an effort to give me any sort of plausible deniability with regards to your little affair with the Padawan—”

Thirteenth Sister hunches her shoulders furiously. “Could you please not call it that? Because the implications—”

“Stop interrupting. If you cannot hide your paramour—”

“That’s objectively worse!”

“—then there will be nothing I can do to shield you from my Master’s anger. It is in your best interest to learn to be subtle.”

“Like he knows anything about subtlety,” Ahsoka wheezes, out-of-breath with laughter, walking back to stand near Kanan. “Literally everyone knew about his thing with Padmé.”

Vader seems to overhear this, because he glares over his shoulder and points a single finger back at her. “Onderon.”

“Oh for the love of—that was twenty years ago! I was sixteen! And dumb! Let it go already!”

XXVII. THE GHOST

1 BBY

“TRISTAN!”

Tristan jumps, dropping the datapad with his book onto the floor as the door to his room flies open with a crash and Ezra runs in.

“Back from Malachor alr… what’s wrong?”

The door slides shut.

“Sabine is alive and she’s Thirteenth Sister,” Ezra blurts out.

Tristan blinks, speechless. “Ezra, did you not know that?”

XXVIII. IMPERIAL CENTER

1 BBY

“You’re a genius!”

“Mission to Malachor went well, then?”

“Did it go well? Manda, Cody, I think I have a boyfriend now!”

XXIX. IMPERIAL PALACE — IMPERIAL CENTER

0 BBY

“None of these are it.”

The old woman looks disapprovingly at her. “You’ve barely glanced at them.”

“These are all about Sith bonds. This isn’t… Dark.”

Thirteenth Sister waits for the old woman to reply, but she doesn’t.

“Do you have anything about… Jedi bonds?” Thirteenth ventures.

“Oh, dear me, yes,” the old woman smiles, absently fidgeting with the glowing blue bracelets that look too much like Force-suppressors to be coincidental. “But I’m afraid it’s all under lock and key. Accessible with the Emperor’s order only.”

Thirteenth Sister sighs.

“If you can be more specific about what you’re looking for, I may be able to assist you,” the librarian offers.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” she laments.

The librarian sits next to her, pulling a chair aside. “Do you believe it could be a form of Master-Apprentice bond?”

“Definitely not.”

“Is it with someone near your age?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known them?”

“A few years.”

“Then it’s not any type of crèchemate bond,” the librarian concludes. “How certain are you that it may be a Jedi bond?”

“Not certain at all.”

The old woman hums under her breath, then stands, wandering along the shelves for a while before withdrawing a datapad and carrying it over.

“Try looking at this one, dear,” she says kindly. “It’s about unaligned bonds. You may have more success. Let me know if you need anything.”

She scrolls through it. It's difficult to understand—it looks like it was written in some ancient language then run through an automatic translator seven different times—and half the bonds described are completely fantastical (if there’s such a thing as a “dyad” then she’ll eat her helmet). But there’s one in particular that stands out.

She can read enough to tell that it's pretty close to what she has, but unfortunately, most of it is gibberish.

“Can you help me read this?” she asks the librarian, who takes it obligingly.

“Oh,” she observes after a moment, a bemused smile crossing her face as her eyebrows go up. “I see.”

“See what?” Thirteenth Sister demands.

The librarian laughs to herself. “Child, if you'd told me it was a lovers' bond, I could have been much more helpful in finding—”

Thirteenth Sister can't hear the rest over her involuntary and extremely loud reaction.

“Well!” exclaims the librarian, looking slightly ruffled. “I understand your embarrassment but kindly do not use such vulgar language in my Archives!”

XXX. SEELOS

0 BBY

There’s a soft knock on the door of the AT-AT walker, and Gregor cheerfully swings it open.

A tall figure looms in the entryway.

“Is Wolffe at home?” the aging Kel Dor rumbles.

“Oh. Sure! Gimme a second.” Gregor shuts the door and whirls around, yelling, “WO-OLFFE! YER DAD’S HERE!”

XXXI. SORGAN

0 BBY

Sorgan is an unassuming planet—quiet, peaceful, and the perfect place for wanted criminals to hide.

Not that the man with hair that grayed at the temples and the woman with aging crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes look like wanted criminals.

Especially when they’re the go-to babysitters for an entire krill farming village.

Ezra sits across from his mother and his father as a flock of children tumble through the room, laughing and shouting. His face is covered in colorful paint and he knows there’s at least one ribbon in his hair somewhere. There’s more kids here than the day before; the village has some kind of traditional festival tonight and the preparation work takes all day.

It’s his second day at the village. He’d managed to scrape together some free time and borrowed the Phantom to go spend a week with his parents. (Every time he visits, he forgets something. Last time it was his comm, the time before that, his lightsaber—this time, he forgot his whole suitcase. It's practically a tradition by now.)

He doesn’t see them much. He can’t; it’s too dangerous. So he treasures every moment he has with them, and dreams of a future where the Empire is gone and he can bring Kanan and Hera and Tristan and Zeb and Chopper all with him to Sorgan, so his whole family can be in one place.

There’s a jaunty knock on the door and Mira calls out, “Come in!”

Ezra knows his mom and dad are expecting one of the village’s parents come to drop off a child for the afternoon, and it’s what he’s expecting, too, until he feels a teasing poke to the bond, seconds before the door swings open and Sabine, helmetless, wearing the warm blues and greens of typical Sorgan clothing, strolls cheerfully into the room and throws herself down onto the bench next to Ezra, slinging an arm around his shoulders and grinning.

“Hey there, sunshine.”

The casual touch would be flustering under normal circumstances, but ever since Malachor, well…

He knows he’s probably blushing scarlet as he sputters, “What are you doing here?”

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” she teases.

He sees his parents share a look and thinks, oh, no.

“I wasn’t aware you were seeing someone,” his dad says, smiling.

“I’m not.”

His mother raises her eyebrows.

“I’m not,” he insists again, then looks at Sabine. “And what are you doing here? How did you even find me?”

She sighs, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back against his shoulder. “You’ve got a leak somewhere. My Fulcrum got a tip that your parents might be hiding out on Sorgan so me and ‘Lev got sent to check it out. When I got here I heard a rumor that someone was visiting and I thought I’d drop by for a little while. I won’t stay long, I just wanted to meet your parents.” She leans back a little and looks him over. “You should wear blue more often. It’s a good color for you.”

She’s definitely making him blush on purpose.

“So,” his dad says. “Why don’t you tell us about yourself?”

“Yes, how did you meet our son?” his mom adds.

“Wow,” Sabine laughs. “It’s quite a story. You probably figured out from what I said, that I’m ex-Imp? Well…”

———

Thirteenth Sister is having the time of her life. She and Ezra sit side-by-side at the crowded dinner table, with Mira and Ephraim across from her and ‘Lev—because they’d insisted on inviting him to lunch too—to her left.

She’s astonished at how fast she’d been welcomed into the family. When she first showed up, she only planned on dawdling around on Sorgan for a couple hours and then going back and reporting a false lead. Then she heard someone say that the Bridgers’ son was visiting, and she changed her plan to a quick visit.

The quick visit had turned into an hour-long chat, which had turned into a shy invitation to stay for dinner (from Ezra) and an enthusiastic invitation to stay forever (from his mother.)

Somehow, they got her talking about her life as an Imperial Inquisitor, and she’s in the middle of one of the funniest stories she can think of. “We’re at this conference, Thrawn is waxing poetic about his TIE Defender plan, and I’m trying to take notes on my datapad so I don’t fall asleep, and then I look up and realize Ven is staring at me from across the room. And when I look at my datapad again, I see she’s just sent this photo to every device in the room, including the holoprojector, and Thrawn just hit the button to go to the next slide of the presentation, so it looked like his grand idea was—you know what, I’m just going to show you.”

She pulls up a holo of the picture. Ezra nearly falls off his chair laughing, and she can’t stop a smile from spreading across her face.

But ‘Lev, it seems, is still feeling a little peeved about the whole “nobody tells me anything” deal because he adds, “Didn’t ‘Ven do that again last week? But she, like, hijacked the whole presentation, right?”

Thirteenth realizes exactly what he’s talking about and kicks him under the table.

Ezra perks up. “I haven’t heard this one!”

“It’s hilarious,” ‘Lev says. “It was another presentation, and this time it was supposed to be an update on Krennic’s Orb of Doom—we’re gonna get those blueprints to you soon, don’t worry—and Vader forced him to make the meeting optional, so the only people there were people Krennic bullied into attending, but Ven still insisted on going. I didn’t know why, at the time.”

“Lev,” Thirteenth growls, and he smiles sweetly at her.

“Sometime before the meeting, Ven had snuck in and switched out his slideshow for one she had made. So Krennic turns on the holoprojector and the opening slide says, in magenta Comic Sans on a black background, ‘Why Thirteenth Sister And The Jedi Apprentice Would Be A Cute Couple: a presentation by me uwu.’ Ven jumped up and started talking. Like half the people there sat through the whole thing, just to spite Krennic.”

Thirteenth sees the knowing looks on Ezra’s parents’ faces and decides that she would like to become one with the Force now, please and thank you.

———

The sky is bright with a million stars and a bonfire roars at the village center. Ezra’s parents have retired for the night and ‘Lev has run off somewhere. There are still three or four couples dancing, but Ezra and Sabine aren’t one of those pairs. They’ve whirled and spun and laughed until their chests hurt and their legs ached. They’re dizzy and giddy and most of all, they’re happy.

They’ve never had this freedom before. It was always a mission, or a fight. But today, they just… relaxed.

She sits next to him on the soft ground, right in front of one of the krill ponds, and they watch the dancers together. He feels her presence glowing with warmth and light. It’s nothing like the cold, devouring darkness that it had been the first time they met.

“I’m sorry I took up so much of your day,” she murmurs, leaning against his shoulder.

“Don’t be,” he replies.

“And sorry about ‘Lev embarrassing you in front of your parents. I had no idea he could be such a… troll.”

“Really, don’t worry about it,” he says, turning his head to look at her. After a pause, he adds, “But… did ‘Ven actually do that?”

She nods, and smiles in spite of herself. “It was forty-two slides long. She had pie charts and everything.”

He snorts. “She’s devoted, I have to give her that.”

Her hand finds his in the darkness.

“I always said we weren’t friends,” she says, absently tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. “Because… if I said we were friends, then it wouldn’t… a feeling can be secret, but a thought is more open. When your boss reads minds, you have to be careful what you think. And maybe I was in a little bit of denial, too.” She smiles wryly at the ground. “I couldn’t admit to myself that I wanted to be your friend, even when it had already happened.”

At the village center, the song ends and another begins. Slower, smoother, sweeping and soft.

She looks up at him. “Do you want to dance?”

He smiles and nods, and she stands, pulling him to his feet. Keeping their hands clasped together, he puts his other arm around her and she lets him lead the dance. He’s not sure why; he’s a horrible slow-dancer.

“I always knew I wanted to be your friend,” he says, because something in the silence is becoming too much for him.

“Liar,” she teases. “You hated me.”

He makes the snootiest face he can and says, “A Jedi does not hate.”

She giggles. “Fine. You disliked me.” Tilting her head, she asks, “When did you change your mind?”

“I think,” he says, speaking as slowly as they dance, “it was probably…”

He flashes a mischievous grin, then drops her hand, grabs her around the waist, and lifts her in the air, spinning around. The tense moment is shattered delightfully. She shrieks and laughs, stumbling against him as her feet touch the ground again. He leans back to look her in the eye.

“Back on Tarkin’s ship,” he finishes.

She blinks in surprise. “What—when the Grand Inquisitor kidnapped Kanan?”

“When you saved my life,” he corrects quietly.

The warmth of her hands, resting on his shoulders, bleeds through the soft cloth of his shirt, and his stomach does a little flip as he realizes that this is exactly how they stood on Malachor.

He reads a question in her eyes, one that neither of them are bold enough to ask out loud.

For the past few hours, he’d been able to forget, and let things be normal… or as normal as it could be. But that all ends now.

Phantom fingers trace through his hair and a mirage of warm breath ghosts against his lips as he remembers the throbbing, thrilling kisses, every one of them seared into his memory.

They’ve stopped dancing, and though the song plays on, he’s not sure he can hear it.

One of her hands reaches up to brush against the scars on his face. Her amber eyes are brilliant as they stare into his own.

Then her gaze drops lower. Her fingers slide back, gripping the base of his neck, and they both know.

In the peaceful forests of Sorgan, there’s nothing rushing them: no adrenalin, no last-second escapes, no hysterical laughter or Sith lords. She draws him in—slowly, deliberately.

Every inch is an eternity.

She’s so close, so very close. Her eyes close as she leans in and a little smile dances across her face.

Her lips just barely brush against his and he takes a half-step back, almost afraid of losing his balance in blissful warmth. But he’s forgotten where they are, and he steps backwards into empty air.

They shriek in off-key harmony as they tumble backwards into the krill pond.

XXXII. FORTRESS INQUISITORIUS — NUR

0 BBY

“So-o, how’d the mission go?”

“You-know-who was there.”

“Ohmigosh yes! What happened?”

“We talked for a while. Almost kissed. Fell into a pond. Talked some more.”

“And?!”

Thirteenth Sister looks down with a sigh. “We… decided we would be better as friends.”

“WHAT?!”

“Not permanently! But right now—stars, ‘Ven, do you have any idea how hard it is? Just hiding feelings?”

“Hah. More than you know.”

“There’s no way I could keep a real relationship secre—wait, what?”

“Nothing!”

“Eleventh Sister, are you hiding something from me?”

“No!”

“Do you have a crush on a Rebel?”

“You’re crazy!”

“You do! Who is it?”

“Nobody because I don’t have a crush on anyone!”

“Is it that smuggler guy that’s always complaining about working with Rebels but keeps showing up? The one with the Wookiee friend and the trash ship?”

“No.”

“Is it Wedge Antilles?”

“No!”

“Is it my brother?”

“What the heck?! No!”

XXXIII. ALDERAAN

0 BBY

Of all the undercover work he’s ever done, this has got to be the most ridiculous.

Literally anyone could have done this, but Tristan had volunteered Ezra for this assignment (probably as payback for the plastic slug-beetle Ezra had put in his canteen the other day.)

He supposes he should be flattered. This is an important mission. He’ll be meeting Fulcrum—the original Fulcrum—and they will pass off the stolen blueprints to the… ahem… Orb of Doom.

But did it really have to be at a Force-cursed masquerade ball?

“I feel stupid,” Tristan mutters, because that had been Ezra’s revenge—looping him into the mission, too.

“Serves you right,” Ezra growls back, glaring out of the corner of his eye.

Hopefully nobody gives them a second glance, because after all, they’re undercover as a pair of brothers—the “mask” part of the “masquerade” makes that easy enough—which easily explains the arguing, and their “costumes” are by far some of the subtlest in the room. It was Tristan’s idea to go with a wolf theme, and Ezra’s sure he meant it as a joke, but the outfits aren’t actually all that bad. No sparkles, thank the Force.

“Do you see them yet?” Tristan asks under his breath, leaning back against the wall and crunching on some kind of sweet snack.

Ezra scans the room again.

“There.”

It’s a middle-aged woman in white face paint, standing demurely by the far wall. She has a split cape that falls over her shoulders like a pair of silver wings and a feathered headdress.

“That’s the outfit Ahsoka described. You want to go or should I?” Ezra asks.

“You can,” Tristan says, looking off somewhere distractedly, then tosses his half-eaten snack aside. “Hey, check out that girl over there.”

Ezra rolls his eyes and walks away.

The woman—possibly Fulcrum—barely looks his way as he approaches.

He asks the code phrase, his voice low. “Have you ever been to Iego?”

She smiles sadly and speaks in a distinctive accent. “No. But I've seen the Angels.”

Without another word, the first Fulcrum turns and walks past him, never once making eye contact, but she has the brief opportunity to pass him a datastick.

She was… different, than he expected. Gentler-looking. Almost familiar.

She has a slight resemblance to Eleventh Sister, he realizes, and has no time to think about anything else because the second after he hides the datastick in his pocket, a girl he’s never seen before is dragging him off to the dance floor.

Her dress makes him think of a pixie or a sprite. Fluttery and mischievous.

This is the awkwardest moment of my life.

He still can’t dance.

Who the heck is this?

She starts talking, chattering so fast he can hardly keep up. It gives him a moment to examine her and he’s finally able to recognize her.

Vera Tonoba. Daughter of the family hosting this party. Distant relative of House Organa and very aware of it.

Ahsoka’s instructions had been to not catch Vera’s notice.

Oops.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” she demands.

“Uh,” is all he manages to say, and she laughs. Loudly.

“Gods, you’re cute,” she giggles, leaning against him. He feels himself blush. “I’m sure you know me, so what’s your name?”

“Dev Morgan,” he says, trying not to think about how many people are probably staring at them.

Tristan is never gonna let me forget this, he mentally mourns.

Vera tosses her reddish curls. “Mm. Well, Dev Morgan…” She tilts her head flirtatiously. “Are you doing anything this Taungsday?”

The hair on the back of his neck rises as a slow chill ices the room over.

The music continues and the chatter doesn’t stop, but Ezra knows everyone in the room must feel the sudden cold.

“Mind if I cut in?” a deeply familiar voice asks. Ezra looks up at the sound and almost regrets it, because he’s not sure he can ever look away.

If Vera Tonoba is a trickster sprite, Sabine is a dark faerie, or a warrior queen. She’s a vision in black, with cobwebby lace for sleeves and a bodice that looks like it’s made of dragon scales.

Vera seems mildly terrified of her, which makes sense, considering the death-glare Sabine is giving her.

And through the Force, Sabine is incandescent with fury.

“Nice meeting you,” Ezra offers weakly as Vera backs away, and then finds himself swept to the edge of the dancers.

Sabine looks up at him through a painted-on black mask edged in silver, her lips turning up in a sharp smile.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Hi,” he replies, because he still can’t think of a good comeback.

“I hope you appreciate the restraint I’m showing,” she whispers. “I haven’t strangled anyone. Yet.”

“That’s good,” he croaks, and because he can’t think of anything else to say, he says, “I like your dress.”

“Thanks,” she says, pulling him close as they waltz out the doors that lead to the gardens. “It has pockets.”

———

Originally, her plan had been to stay on the outskirts of the party, just to make sure nothing went wrong. Thirteenth Sister would rather have been at his side, but she’s not sure she could keep herself there. She wants to be closer, to hold him in her arms and never let go.

She knows waiting is the only safe thing to do, but stars she hates it. Thirteenth loves him too much to be patient.

Every time she tries to put a little distance between them, something always seems to push them closer. Five, six missions now, since Sorgan? Since they agreed to wait?

The datastick handoffs, one that ended in them watching a terrible old holofilm at a backwater theater and laughing themselves silly, another that led to what was a dinner date in everything except name. The duels were full of nicknaming and gazes that held for a bit too long. And the last mission she’d met him on—well, the less she thought about Scarif, the better.

So, no. She had to keep her distance.

But then that girl had grabbed him and dragged him to the dance floor and… well, Thirteenth Sister got mad.

Now they walk arm-in-arm down the moonlit garden path, the ballroom and Vera Tonoba left far behind. The bond hums in the back of her mind—it’s been doing that every time she gets near him since Malachor. Since the moment she pulled him inside her shields.

Thirteenth wonders if he’s noticed, too, how strong it is. She hasn’t worked up the courage to tell him what she learned about their bond from the Archives. She’s not really sure what she’s afraid of.

Maybe she’s scared of how right it feels.

“Why did you come here, anyway?” he asks, breaking the long silence and pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Fulcrum told me about the handoff. I wanted to make sure it went well.”

“Which Fulcrum?”

“Mine.”

“Hm.” He smiles teasingly. “Were you worried about me?”

“I’m always worried about you,” she teases back, and then, seized by an impulse that has never steered her right, she continues, “Anyone crazy enough to kiss an Inquisitor should probably get their head checked out.”

He just chuckles, shaking his head.

“When the war is over,” he asks softly, after a few minutes have passed, “what do you want?”

“You,” Thirteenth answers, simple and honest.

Warm joy glows through the bond.

“But… what else?”

“I don’t know.” She pauses. “What do you want?”

“Peace. No fighting, no running away. I want to be able to live. And… I think I want to teach, too.”

“A Padawan?”

“Maybe.”

“Another crazy street orphan like you?”

Ezra laughs.

“No, I’m serious. We could adopt them. Mandalorians adopt people all the time.”

He gets quiet, and she only realizes why when he repeats, “we?”

She starts to speak, then hesitates. Something that feels like fate or perhaps the Force whispers to her—ask.

“Ezra,” she asks, flinging caution to the wind, “would you—when the war is over, could we—right now, I know we can’t, but—I mean, would you ever consider…” She takes a breath and finishes, a little weakly, “When the Emperor is dead, and everything is safe, if I asked you on a date, you would say yes, right?”

“Oh,” he grins. “I was worried you were going to ask a difficult question. Yeah, of course!”

“But then, what if I asked—”

Thirteenth hesitates, and he waits patiently for her to finish her sentence. The night air is still and warm, reminding her of Sorgan.

She darts forward, turning to stand right in front of him and gripping both his hands in hers. “What if I—” she blurts out.

Before she can finish, there's a loud crash from somewhere down the path.

Thirteenth leans to the side, looking around him, and groans. Eleventh Sister and Spectre Five duck behind a hedge, out of sight, and the giant tipped-over potted plant is glaring evidence that they've been followed.

“Never mind,” she sighs, dropping his hands. “I… never mind.”

XXXIV. FORTRESS INQUISITORIUS — NUR

0 BBY

Vader kneels in front of the holotransmission of the Emperor.

“Your Inquisitors have rebelled, Lord Vader,” Palpatine hisses.

“What… do you mean?” Vader replies.

“One of them is a Rebel agent,” Palpatine spits, “She has corrupted the rest.”

“I see,” Vader says.

“Kill them. All of them.”

“As you say, my master,” Vader lies, and ends the holocall. Quickly, he switches channels.

“Yes, sir?”

“Commander Cody,” he says. “It is time.”

He can tell the clone is grinning beneath his helmet. “I’ll let the boys know, sir.”

XXXV. PROJECT STARDUST

0 BBY

“We’re gonna—we’re gonna steal the Death Star?”

“Of course we’re going to steal the Death Star. Why else would we have thrown all the natborn officers in the brig?”

“Hey, if we’re overthrowing the Empire, does that mean we can use our names again?”

“Who says we’re overthrowing the Empire?”

“I do,” interrupts a voice—one that every clone who ever served in the 501st knows by heart.

Slowly, they all turn as one to stare at the entrance to the Death Star’s barracks.

In the doorway, wearing Vader’s armor, the iconic helmet tucked under one arm, stands Anakin Skywalker.

Most clones there are astonished. Cody… well, he’s worked with Vader long enough to know who was behind that mask. Vader was too much of a drama queen for Cody to not figure it out.

Then the moment is ruined, beautifully, spectacularly, as a clone with blue lines tattooed on the side of his face kicks the door open, nearly sending Skywalker sprawling, and drags in two more clones. They both look groggy, stumbling over their own feet.

“I WAS LOOKING THROUGH A STORAGE ROOM AND GUESS WHO I FOUND IN A CHUNK OF CARBONITE?!” the first clone whoops, shoving the two others forward.

The clone with the Aurebesh five on his temple squints into the bright lights and blinks blearily. The one with a full head of hair stares at Skywalker and mumbles, “General, have you gone a little gray?”

General Skywalker pinches his brow. “Nice to see you too, Kix. Let’s focus on the mission at hand, now, shall we?”

“Okay,” Hardcase says, “Why are you dressed like Darth Vader? How did you survive? I thought you were dead. Is Obi-Wan alive, too? Is he gonna pretend to be Palpatine, if you’re pretending to be Vader? Ooh, is Commander Ahsoka gonna—”

Skywalker’s comm turns on.

“Uh, Dad, there’s a ship coming out of hyperspace!”

Skywalker answers the comm. “Whose ship?”

“Hold on. Mara! Whose ship is that?” There’s a pause, then—

“It’s the Emperor.”

Skywalker smiles. There’s a twinkle in his eye that makes Cody start to sweat.

“Luke, how would you like to be the first person to test out the full capabilities of this battle station?”

“You’re the best dad.”

———

Watching Palpatine’s ship turn to itty bitty pieces of ash is satisfying, but the glowy Light feeling doesn’t last long.

“Dad,” Luke says into the comm (because the moment they left Fortress Inquisitorius for the last time, Luke announced that he never wanted to be called Eleventh Brother again, and also that Vader was, apparently, his father, and Luke would be calling him that), “We’re intercepting a transmission. Uh, oh boy, it’s from Mandalore!”

“Have Thirteenth answer,” says Vader. “I give her full authority to act as she sees fit.”

Sabine settles her helmet over her head and answers the transmission.

It’s Gar Saxon.

“I was expecting Lord Vader,” he says, condescending.

“Get used to disappointment.”

On the other side of the holotable, out-of-sight of the camera, she sees Luke mouth, Did she just quote The Princess Bride? to Eleventh Sister.

“I act on his behalf,” Sabine continues.

“Very well,” Saxon grumbles. “I have received word on the location of several Jedi.”

Her heart nearly stops at his next words.

“Countess Wren of Krownest contacted me with the message that two Jedi and one apprentice sought her out to ask her to join their pathetic rebellion. She has offered to turn them over in exchange for amnesty for her son.”

“I… see,” Sabine says, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Hold off on any bargaining until I arrive.”

She ends the call and takes a shaky breath.

“I’ll see if Dad will let us use his TIE,” Luke says after a short silence. “It’s one of the fastest ships we have.”

“Us?” Sabine repeats.

“No way we’re letting you go alone,” ‘Ven proclaims, heading towards the door. “Come on. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

XXXVI. KROWNEST

0 BBY

It's become harder and harder, as time goes on, to draw on the Dark like she used to.

Sabine isn’t so angry anymore. She’s found something like inner calm. By any account, today of all days ought to be a wellspring of joy.

The Emperor is dead.

She’s free.

But the Dark is swelling, raging in her chest as Sabine storms through the hallways that maybe some other time she would stop to reminisce over. Saxon has disobeyed her orders to wait, and the sound of blaster fire urges her onwards. That wouldn’t worry her quite so much if this wasn’t the first time Ezra has used the bond to call for her help.

With a flick of her hand, one end of her saber ignites, held in a low guard. She doesn’t break her stride.

I’m coming, she whispers down the bond.

Sabine loves her mother, really, but right now she’s furious. Ursa would have turned Ezra over to the Empire without hesitation.

She probably still thinks I’m dead, Sabine realizes. Won’t she be surprised?

She enters the main room. It’s easy to spot who she’s looking for—a blade of green light in the middle of the room.

The other end of her saber comes to life with a snap-hiss.

Behind her, she can hear ‘Ven do the same.

Closing her eyes, Sabine enfolds herself in Darkness and lunges into the fray.

———

Maybe Ursa should have anticipated Saxon’s betrayal.

But she didn’t, and now her clan is under attack.

The Jedi, at least, have sided with them—blue, green, and dual white flash around the room.

When a whirlwind of spinning red enters the mix, heading straight towards the youngest Jedi, Ursa fully expects both Master and Padawan to abandon the battle and fight the new opponent. Instead, neither of them seem to even notice.

To Ursa’s utter and complete astonishment, the Dark acolyte takes a position directly behind the apprentice, guarding his back with deadly accuracy. And, to top it all off—he smiles.

Needless to say, this new ally, whoever they are, has none of the compunctions the Jedi do to fighting dirty. They’re ruthless, terrifying. Exactly what Ursa would expect from a student of Vader.

Ursa’s main focus is on the battle, but she can’t help noticing that the pseudo-Sith has one obvious weakness—they will prioritize the Jedi boy’s safety over all else, including themself. At least twice Ursa has seen them put themself in an entirely vulnerable position for his sake.

And from what she sees, the vulnerability is reciprocal.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end. A second Dark warrior appears, and it is clear Saxon no longer stands a chance. The last Imperial soldier falls and the room goes quiet. One by one, the Jedi and Inquisitors deactivate their lightsabers.

Then, the first Inquisitor speaks.

“Palpatine is dead… and good riddance.”

A murmur goes around the room, but Ursa’s notice is caught by the wonderstruck look on the apprentice’s face.

“He’s gone?”

The Inquisitor nods, and a blinding feeling of joy resonates around the room, ringing across the walls so loudly that even Ursa, Force-blind as a rock, can feel it.

The Inquisitor reaches up and removes her helmet.

Ursa’s legs almost give out.

The holonews anchor’s voice still echoes in her head, eight years later—reports say the Imperial Academy on Mandalore was just bombed by rebel insurgents. Twenty-nine have been reported injured so far, but the only known fatality as of yet is a fourteen-year-old girl by the name of Sabine Wren.

The Inquisitor’s face has matured, lost the childish roundness that it still had at the last time Ursa saw her, but it is impossibly, unmistakably, Ursa’s dead daughter.

Sabine’s name rests on the tip of Ursa’s tongue, about to be spoken, when her voice halts entirely. Two seconds before, she would have said nothing in the galaxy could surprise her more than seeing her daughter, alive and well.

But then Sabine takes two stumbling steps forward, nearly throwing herself into the Jedi boy’s arms and pulling him into a fervent kiss.

In front of the entirety of Clan Wren.

Who all doubtlessly have recognized her by now.

Well, Sabine never did like to do things by halves.

Tristan wolf-whistles and the embracing couple spitefully reply by deepening the kiss. The other Inquisitor whoops and gives Tristan a high-five so forceful that he clutches his hand and whines, “Ow-w!”

“All right, that’s enough,” Ursa calls out, interrupting the scattered chuckles around the room. “Your enthusiasm is understandable but really, it’s unnecessary to make such a show of this. Sabine. Sabine, are you listening to me? Oh, for the love of—”

———

Four sets of footsteps echo in an empty hall of the Wren stronghold. The fight is over, the battle is won, and the four Force-wielders are reveling in the calm after the storm.

“So you were on our side all along?”

Twelfth Sister—Mara, is her name, now that she’s not an Inquisitor anymore—shrugs.

“Was anyone going to suspect Crazy Twelfth for sneaking around when she was just obviously looking for evidence against Thirteen and the Padawan?”

“You fooled me,” Sabine replies, walking on Ezra’s other side. Her fingers are twined through his and their hands swing back and forth cheerfully as they walk.

“I was the only one that knew,” Luke adds.

“How long did you work for Fulcrum?” Ezra asks. “Before or after they recruited Sabine?”

Mara shares a look with Luke, a mysterious smile on her face.

“Bro, Fulcrum is me.”

“Wait, what?”

“She was running a whole network!” Luke brags. “She had dozens of spies, contacts, informants… everything a girl could want.”

“So it was all an act?” Sabine demands. “Hating me and everything?”

“No, I genuinely loathed you, at first. But you’re not so bad anymore.”

Ezra laughs.

“So, aren’t you going to ask how we killed the Emperor?” Sabine interrupts. “Because that is a good story.”

“Okay, how did you do it?”

“Vader had been planning for this for a long time,” she narrated. “He was secretly replacing all the stormtroopers on the Death Star with clones. When the time came, we—” she snickers—“we stole it.”

“You stole the Death Star?”

“Yeah. Right before Palpatine was supposed to come visit it, too. So when his ship came out of hyperspace—”

“We blew it up!” Luke shouts, punching a fist in the air.

“Full firepower.” Mara smiles. “I think it helped Vader work out some issues.”

“Yeah, he definitely has issues,” Ezra laughs.

“Okay, say what you will about my dad, he’s—”

“Your what?”

“My dad. But he’s—”

This time, Mara shushes him.

“Do you hear that?”

They all strain to listen, and yes—there’s a muffled giggle from somewhere down the hall and around a corner.

Mara steps in front of the group, leading them as they tiptoe down the hall. She peeks around the corner and clamps a hand over her mouth.

Ezra looks too, and his jaw drops. He can feel the tidal wave of shock—followed quickly by a delighted mischief—from Sabine down the bond.

There’s a couple standing a few paces down the hallway, kissing passionately. And while one of them is hidden in shadow, shoved up against the wall and blocked from view, the other one is very clearly Eleventh Sister.

Luke is the last to see, and he steps fully around the corner instead of just looking around the side like the rest of them.

“HOLY SITHSPAWN!” he yelps, voicing the feelings of the others.

Eleventh Sister (no, Leia, her name is Leia) jumps back with a shriek that her partner comically echoes, and his face is fully revealed.

They all stand for a moment in stupefied silence before Mara turns to Sabine and deadpans, “Your brother screams like a little girl.”

Sabine ignores her and steps forward, advancing on the gobsmacked couple.

“ ‘Ven.”

“Ohhhh, no,” Leia says, backing down the hallway, arms up defensively.

“ ‘Ven.”

Leia spins around and sprints down the hall, abandoning Tristan in her rush to get away from Sabine.

“ ‘VEN!”

“Yet another thing I did not need to see,” Luke complains, throwing his hands in the air and storming off.

“What was the first thing?” Tristan demands.

Distantly, Ezra can hear Sabine shout, “LEIA ORGANA-SKYWALKER-AMIDALA, YOU LIAR! HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING?!”

“Leave me alone!”

“WERE THERE TONGUES? ”

“I hate you!”

“OH, SO IT’S ONLY FUNNY WHEN YOU SAY IT? IS THAT HOW IT IS?”

“Hey, Mara,” Ezra smirks, looking Tristan right in the eyes. “D'you think that was making out?”

“Oh, definitely,” she agrees, as delighted as he is with this little bit of revenge.

Chapter Text

XXXVII. MANDALORE

0 BBY

Thirteenth Sister—Sabine, technically, Anakin is going to have to get used to thinking of her with her name—speaks in a whisper, reviewing the plan they’d smashed together as quickly as they could. Somehow, Anakin had found himself roped into the rescue mission. He’d left the Disco Ball of Death in Cody’s capable hands.

“The Empire is falling fast. They’re going to try and get rid of as many political prisoners as they can, as fast as they can.”

They huddle in one of the many gashes that mar Mandalore’s surface. Luke and Leia are, surprisingly, not next to each other—they were usually inseparable, but now Leia stubbornly stays opposite him, glaring over occasionally. Twel— Mara had gone ahead with a scout team to pick the best place for their attack. The Jedi apprentice is, of course, right next to Sabine. At least they aren’t trying to be subtle anymore. It had been painful to watch back when they were trying— failing —to keep it a secret.

“My father will, along with other prisoners, be moved to the capital city for public execution,” Sabine continues. “Mother has been contacting the other clans. Several of them have already agreed to stand against the Empire. Reinforcements from Clan Kryze will be joining us any minute. The Children of the Watch were apparently being stubborn about the helmets thing again but Mother is confident she’ll win them over with the ‘common foe’ argument.”

They’re interrupted by the sound of jetpacks, and four Mandalorians in blue descend from the sky.

Fenn Rau stands, welcoming their leader with a hearty handshake.

“Bo-Katan Kryze,” he introduces, but Anakin’s attention is caught by one of the other Mandalorians with her—the one who’s staring at him in complete astonishment. Maybe even horror. There’s something familiar about…

“—and this is my right-hand man, Ben,” Bo-Katan finishes, and it all clicks.

“Oh. Nice to see you too, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says.

———

Alrich has been having a fascinating conversation on Mandalorian art with his fellow prisoner. She’s a graying woman with sad lines around her eyes, and her knowledge of the traditional art forms is astounding—though they disagree on a few key points.

“—yet consider, it can be used as a form of expression—a canvas, of a sort, yet it can be worn.”

His fellow prisoner, restrained across from him in the transport, acknowledges his point with a tilt of her head. “Perhaps I would agree with you, if the use of armor did not always seem to preclude war.”

“I have had armor before, though I'm partial to peace—it lends itself to more artistic opportunities.”

The woman shakes her head with a sigh. “If more people shared your views… But the loudest voices seem to always be the ones crying for violence.”

Their conversation ends as the prisoner transport shakes and heaves, veering wildly. In the front, there’s a flash of yellow blaster bolts and a green blade, the sound of stormtroopers shouting, and then a boy with short black hair jumps into the back, yanks off his bright orange scout trooper helmet, and says, “Hi, my name is Ezra, I’m here to rescue you!”

Another young man follows him and Alrich realizes that this one is his son.

Tristan gestures to the woman and says to the Jedi, “You help her. I’ll get my dad.”

He quickly removes the binders and restraints and then the Jedi—Ezra—astonishes Alrich by announcing, as they hurry to the door and prepare to exit, “I don’t know if you know this already but your daughter’s alive! She’s leading the rescue mission!”

He stares over his shoulder at the boy. “My daught— Sabine? You’re with Sabine?”

Tristan snickers. “You bet he’s with her.”

The Jedi boy kicks Tristan in the shin, mutters “hypocrite,” and helps Alrich’s fellow prisoner jump out of the transport.

Alrich looks over at his son in surprise. “You mean he’s—”

“My future brother-in-law. Wow, that’s a scary thought. C’mon!”

And they leap out the door before Alrich has time to really process that his daughter is alive and… dating a Jedi, apparently?

———

“So, tell me about this boyfriend of yours.”

“Father.”

“He seems like a nice man, how long have you known him for?”

“Father.”

“Have you proposed yet?”

“What?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry—is it not that serious? Tristan implied—”

“It’s… complicated, okay? It’s really complicated. I mean, the whole situation—a Jedi and a Mandalorian is crazy enough, but I’m—I was a Sith Acolyte for a while, and we agreed to wait until the Empire fell but we still kinda had a sort-of thing and it's… complicated.”

“Well, I'll keep my questions until you've figured things out, then.”

“Oh—okay. Thank you, Father.”

“I suppose I’m just a little eager to be a grandfather, that’s all.”

“DAD HE’S STANDING RIGHT THERE—”

XXXVIII. REBEL BASE, YAVIN IV

0 BBY

“Hi, Captain!”

Of all the things Rex was expecting when the Death Star arrived in the system and started calling the base, General Skywalker’s grinning—but aged—face in the holoframe was not one of them.

“General?”

Skywalker is about to reply, but he’s forcibly shoved out of the picture by a grinning clone.

“Hey! Rex!” he shouts, dragging two more clones into the holo. “Check it out!”

Rex stares.

Blinks.

Is that— Hardcase? And Fives? And Kix?!

Kix squints at the holo, then waves at a different clone behind Rex. “Hey, Jesse,” he says, and Hardcase bursts into laughter.

“It feels like a par-tay ev-er-y da-ay—” he sings—if it could be called singing— off-key and proud of it.

“That stopped being funny twenty-three years ago, Hardcase!” Jesse yells at the holo.

XXXIX. IMPERIAL CENTER CORUSCANT

0 BBY

“I beg your pardon?!”

Bail Organa stares in pure shock at the Sith lord standing in his office.

“I’m going to make you Emperor,” Vader repeats, like it's the most normal thing in the world to say.

“…why?”

“I don’t want the job and you’re one of the only people in the whole senate with a brain. And Luke and Leia recommended you. They say hi, by the way, and Leia apologizes that she and Luke can’t come visit you yet but… something about a sailing ship? She says they’ll spend this summer on Alderaan, though. And! You have to be Emperor for at least two years before you turn everything back into a Republic.” Vader points a bossy finger at Bail. “The Emperor has absolute power. Use it to clean up this mess. Moth Monma can probably help you.”

With that, Vader turns and walks out of the office, and Bail briefly wonders if he just had a hallucination, because what.

XL. REBEL BASE, YAVIN IV

0 ABY

“I swear, first Mother, then Father, then Tristan, and then your parents and Hera and Chopper and THEN that scientist’s daughter—”

“But Jyn interrupting really was an accident,” Ezra objects.

The couple—because they are a couple, now!—walk through the deserted halls of the Yavin Jedi temple. Normally the place would be bustling with activity, but now, everyone’s at the victory celebration. A bunch of people have shown up, and though he didn’t recognize any of them, lots of them have glowing presences that announce their identity as surviving Jedi.

The Countess and Alrich came, too, which was understandable; their family had been separated for so long, of course they wanted to be back together again.

But that meant that when Ezra and Sabine tried to find a little time to themselves, they found instead a suspiciously coordinated chain of moment-killing interruptions. It was honestly ridiculous; it wasn’t like they were sneaking off to go kiss or something (unlike SOME PEOPLE, TRISTAN, LEIA,) they were just trying to have a conversation!

But now, with everyone at the celebration, they finally found some time together.

They didn’t really have anything serious to discuss. Their conversion wound and rambled. They talked about their pasts for a while; he told her about his childhood, his parents’ arrest, and meeting the Ghost crew. She recounted stories from her time at the Imperial Academy—the roommate who was obsessed with oldies music, the weapon she was tasked to build, and the day she fumbled on the sparring mats—her opponent’s punch hovering an inch away from her left eye, held in place by some invisible force.

They reach a doorway that leads to a sort of balcony outside the temple. It’s late in the evening and the sun is starting to set, taking away the sweltering heat of the day. In fact, he’s starting to get a little chilly in just his thin shirt; he finds himself regretting leaving his jacket back on the Ghost .

Not that he’s going to say anything. Sabine told him he should bring his jacket with and he didn’t listen. He’s not admitting he’s cold.

But of course they share a bond (and it had been hilarious when she first explained what she learned about it—he didn’t want to laugh at her but she made the funniest face when she was flustered), and she smiles up at him.

“Told you,” she mutters.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Wordlessly, she slips her arm around him and pulls him close against her side, turning her head to look at him and smiling.

“You know,” she begins. “Our… parental figures, aren’t gonna give us a second alone after we go back to the party. But we have a bit of time now…”

…so, maybe there was a little bit of kissing involved in the sneaking off.

———

Anakin smiles as he looks down at the party from a window high up in the old Jedi temple on Yavin.

It’s ecstatic, full of wild joy and a hanging feeling of I-can’t-believe-we-won. More than one rebel cell or runaway Jedi has shown up to join in the celebration, despite the ex-Sith’s presence.

Though the party is full of Light, Anakin is tired, so he watches the celebrations from above and smiles.

Bo-Katan Kryze is here, along with Obi-Wan and his giiiirlfrieeeend.

(Anakin was having so much fun with that.)

A Twi’lek woman—still recognizable as Aayla Secura, even after twenty years—and a clone arrived not ten minutes ago, with a flock of little kids of all species. Bly’s really embracing that Mandalorian adoption thing, isn’t he?

There are others here, too—Quinlan Vos and whatshisface redhead-kid-I-almost-killed have been playing a high-speed match of table tennis against Asajj Ventress and another gray-skinned woman for nearly an hour now and from what Anakin can see from his vantage point, none of them are showing any sign of slowing down. (Anakin thinks he heard something about “Team Dathomir versus Team Psychometry” before he left the party, but he’s not really sure.)

A group of maybe half a dozen humans, an extremely rude KX-series droid, and the Death Star science guy were loitering around the snacks table the last he saw. Plo Koon showed up with Wolffe and Gregor, and Ahsoka hasn’t left his side since. Yoda appeared out of seemingly nowhere about an hour ago and—okay, maybe Anakin is hiding from him a little bit, he's not in the mood to have his kneecaps attacked with a wooden stick, or to hear a lecture in backwards talk.

He scans the party, looking for a different face to focus on. There’s a group of young-ish Jedi. He thinks they’re the younglings Ahsoka brought to Ilum once. Hondo Ohnaka came with them. Shaak Ti is here too; she’s been giving out hugs to every new clone that arrives. And crying a lot. Anakin wonders if she might have a guilt complex.

Speaking of arriving clones—Anakin watches as an Omicron– class attack shuttle does something vaguely resembling a landing and the door flies open, a clone with a mechanical arm running outside with a shout of “FIVES!” before the dust has had time to settle.

“Hi, Echo!” Anakin shouts, leaning out the window and surprising the clone enough that he runs straight into his not-dead-after-all brother, sending them both sprawling to the ground.

More clones exit the ship. The silver-haired one is helping a middle-aged woman maneuver her hoverchair down the stairs. Anakin squints. Something about her seems familiar…

Oh, would you look at that! Depa Billaba. Anakin wonders if the Ghost crew is here yet.

Right, yeah, they’re definitely here—his senses brush his bond with his daughter and he can feel a sense of oh-hey-there-Tristan-fancy-running-into-you-here aaaand time to shield. Giggly teen romance is not his thing.

“Anakin,” says a voice, and he turns around. It’s Obi-Wan, still wearing his Mandalorian armor.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin replies evenly.

“Let’s walk,” says Obi-Wan, and the two once-brothers slowly begin to make their way down the hall.

“You can imagine I was surprised to see you working with rebels,” Obi-Wan offers quietly. “The last time I saw you was on the security holos of the Jedi Temple.”

Anakin cringes at the reminder of that horrible mistake.

“I always wondered,” says the old Master quietly, “about that night. So many Jedi died.”

Anakin tries to speak, to say something, but finds he can’t, and Obi-Wan continues.

“And yet… in all the bodies, there wasn’t a single child. You led your troops right past the crèche.”

“What kind of father would I be,” Anakin manages, softly, “if I killed the younglings, when I had two newborns of my own, hidden away? I was—I was out of my mind, but even then I couldn’t forget them. They'd already formed a bond with me—half a minute around them and it was already there. I think it was what kept me sane.”

They reach a set of stairs and slowly ascend—Anakin thinks it might be towards the roof.

“Yes, and on that—what happened? I assumed you had no idea about Luke and Leia for years. Why didn't you take them sooner?”

Anakin shakes his head. “I was a Sith lord, not an idiot. There was no way I was letting babies around Palpatine, not ones as strong in the Force as Luke and Leia. They were safer with the Organa family in their childhood. And what about you? How did you get all…” he gestures to the armor. “Mandalorian?”

“Well, I’m sure you remember how Bo-Katan requested my assistance with Maul’s hostile takeover of Mandalo—”

He breaks off as they go through a doorway to an open space on the slope of the temple. Both he and Anakin freeze, and in silent agreement, sloooooowly back away.

Once safely back inside the temple and out of earshot, and after a long awkward moment of silence, Anakin blurts out, “Is that what it was like to be you, watching me and Padmé when we thought nobody was looking?”

“To be honest, Anakin, the secondhand embarrassment was usually worse.”

“I owe you so many apologies…”

Obi-Wan puts a hand on his shoulder and a sense of warmth echoes through the Force.

“You owe many people apologies, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. “But that doesn’t mean you can never give them, you know. It’s over. We’ve won.”

Anakin smiles.

“Yeah. I guess we have.”

The heartwarming moment is shattered. From behind them—outside—there’s two shrieks and a shout of “WHAT THE HECK, LEIA, HOW DID YOU EVEN GET INTO THE VENTILATION SHAFTS—” and the door they went through flies open. Leia, eyes wide, cackling, white jumpsuit covered in dust, flees through the hallway, shoving between Anakin and Obi-Wan in her haste to get away.

Anakin trips and falls back against the wall, wind briefly knocked out of him. Leia glances over her shoulder and shouts “Sorry, Dad!” then whoops as Sabine and the Jedi boy barrel through the doorway after her.

Both of their faces are flaming scarlet, which is understandable. The whole comical scene reminds Anakin of back in the Clone War, when Artoo liked to come screeching through the room whenever he and Padmé snuck off for a stolen kiss.

“Aren’t you going to help your daughter?” Obi-Wan remarks dryly as the furious couple chases Leia around a corner.

“Honestly?” Anakin grins. “She really had it coming.”

A moment later, there’s the sound of a ship touching down, and Anakin goes back out onto the now-empty balcony to look down, curious as to who's arriving.

The ramp opens, and a middle aged woman storms out.

His world freezes around him.

It’s not possible, but…

That’s my wife.

Then Padmé Amidala puts her hands on her hips and bellows above the noise of the party.

“ANAKIN SKYWALKER, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH TROUBLE YOU’RE IN?!”

OH SITHSPIT, THAT’S MY WIFE!

EPILOGUE

For all the stressing they did, the actual wedding went off without a hitch.

The night before the ceremony, all the bridesmaid dresses had mysteriously (“mysteriously”) turned from a pale blue to a riot of purples and pinks and oranges and maybe a few more colors that glowed in the dark, but that wasn’t exactly a setback. Even with Leia in the bridal party, things went smoothly. The actual ceremony went well, too, though there were a couple stifled giggles when the bride’s father walked her down the aisle, openly crying. And the roar of laughter when Tristan shouted “HECK YEAH!” as the bride and groom kissed was definitely one of the most memorable parts of the evening.

There had been a long debate over where they should have the wedding, but eventually Skywalker butted in and told them he knew this nice place on Naboo, and since nobody could think of a better idea, Naboo it was.

It’s probably one of the biggest receptions most of the guests had ever seen. Nearly everyone was invited.

Sabine had been honored—though not surprised— when Hera asked her, Leia, and Mara to be some of her bridesmaids. It had been less than a year since the Empire’s defeat, but all the defected Inquisitors were welcomed into the Ghost family nearly instantly. Hera and Skywalker’s unspoken, passive-aggressive custody battle over the “kids” was a running joke for the rebels—even though most of those “kids” already had parents.

“I ate way too much cake,” Ezra complains, throwing himself down in the seat at Sabine's side and slumping back dramatically.

“I warned you,” she teases.

“Sabine! Sabine, Sabine, Sabine—” Leia shouts, barely allowing the couple three seconds of each other's company as she materializes through the crowd to grab Sabine’s hand and pull her to her feet. “Come on, quick! Hera’s gonna throw her bouquet, we gotta try to catch it!”

Sabine lets Leia lead her away to a group of women waiting for the bouquet toss.

This could get competitive, she thinks, watching as her brother—standing outside the group—blows a kiss to Leia, and near him, Luke shouts encouragement at Mara.

A pair of blue-and-white montrals are visible above the group of women, and Sabine slips up to Ahsoka’s side.

“You planning on getting married?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

“No, I just want to try and catch the bouquet. It looked fun. Why, are you?”

Sabine shrugs mysteriously. “Mmm. Maybe.”

“Listen up, ladies!” Hera shouts over the group. “No Force-jumps! Make this fair for everyone!”

Leia boos and a couple people laugh. Turning her back to the group, Hera bends down, then hurls the bouquet into the air. They jump, reaching for it like a tidal wave. Ahead of her, Sabine can see Leia’s fingers juuust brush the bouquet.

Then, as if in slow motion, someone soars above them all in what is obviously a Force-assisted jump, snatching the bouquet from Leia’s grasp and doing a over-the-top three-point-landing.

Hera turns around, hands on her hips. “I said no Force-jumps.”

“Yeah, but you also said ladies,” Ezra replies cheekily, standing and brushing himself off, only to squawk as Mara shoves past him, grabbing the bunch of flowers out of his hands.

The redhead looks over her shoulder at the others and laughs. With a howl of outrage, Leia tackles her fellow ex-Inquisitor, sending the bouquet tumbling across the floor. A woman who looks a little bit like Rex—same blonde hair and tan skin—throws herself towards the bouquet at the same time that Luke lunges for it, only to have it stolen up, seconds before either of them could grab it, by Tristan—who, for his part, is promptly bowled over by Zeb.

Sabine whoops and throws herself into the fray.

———

By the time everyone settles down, there isn’t much of a bouquet left to grab.

Ezra sits on the floor, leaning back on his hands, exhausted. Kanan and Hera have spent the past half hour sitting on some chairs at the edge of the room, eating cake together and watching the chaos unfold. Ezra's jacket is rumpled and he’s sure his hair is a mess, but he doesn’t really care, because that was fun. He’s not sure what impulse made him sneak up and steal the bouquet but he’s glad he did.

This time, it’s Sabine who comes to sit next to him.

For a moment, they’re silent, until she quietly asks, “Do you think there’s any truth in the whole bouquet tradition? That the one to catch it is the next person who gets married?”

“Maybe. Like, a self-fulfilling prophecy? But nobody really caught it today,” Ezra laughs.

“Not exactly,” she amends, and he realizes she’s clutching something in her fist. “Here, hold out your hand.”

He does, and she drops a couple crumpled petals into his palm.

Ezra’s about to laugh again and make some sort of silly reply when he notices that the flower petals feel heavier than they should. He looks closer and his heart skips a beat.

Eyes wide, he turns to her.

“It’s… just a thought,” Sabine says haltingly, shifting uncertainly.

He closes his hand around the silver circlet, nestled among the petals, and reaches into his pocket.

“That's funny, 'cause I had a thought, too,” Ezra grins, and drops a ring of his own into Sabine's waiting hands.