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The night air on Yavin 4 was cool, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Ezra took a deep breath, staring up from his position on top of the Ghost at the stars above. He’d heard people say that looking up at so many stars made them feel alone, like they were a tiny speck in a massive galaxy.
But Ezra had never felt that way. Especially not after he started traveling with the Spectres. Now, when he looked up at the stars, he would think of Kanan’s teachings, about how through the Force, he wasn’t alone— he was connected to everything, even the faraway stars. He would think about Hera, how she was more at home up with the stars than on the ground. He would remember the time Zeb had helped them make their way through the nebula, and all the other times he’d fought alongside Ezra.
“The stars are amazing tonight,” he said aloud.
Next to him, Sabine Wren made a dismissive noise. “The stars were better on Atollon.”
Ezra couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter. “That’s ridiculous— these are the exact same stars.”
“First of all, we’re on an entirely different planet,” Sabine pointed out. “Therefore they’re definitely not. Second of all, you didn’t think it was ridiculous when you said the same thing about Lothal.”
“Well, that’s different,” Ezra said. “Lothal’s home.”
“Fair enough.”
They were both silent for a moment, and Ezra’s thoughts drifted. He associated Sabine with the stars almost more so than any of the others. They’d been star-gazing together since some of their first days on Atollon, shortly after Malachor. One night, he’d been ripped out of his sleep by yet another nightmare— watching Ahsoka fall to the Sith Lord’s blade, Maul’s cruel laughter in the background as Kanan shouted for him to do something, to help. To not just stand there and watch.
He was a Jedi. He was supposed to save people. On Malachor, he’d barely been able to save himself, and he definitely hadn’t saved Kanan.
These days, Ezra knew better. He knew it wasn’t his fault. But at the time, the memory that he had caused Kanan’s blindness and Ahsoka’s death had torn at him, both waking and sleeping. Nightmares that were too often more like memories woke him up most nights, and he often couldn’t stand laying in his room, terrified at the idea of drifting back to sleep.
So he’d wandered outside, walking in circles around the camp, chatting with any sentries he happened to bump into. But one night when he’d gotten up, Sabine had been up, too.
She hadn’t asked him why he was up, just slid him a mug of caf that had been waiting next to her, like she’d known he was getting up. As Ezra sipped at it cautiously— he didn’t have much of a taste for caf then, and he still didn’t now— she’d said, “When I can’t sleep, I like to sneak out and watch the stars.” She paused, seeming to waver, then asked, “Do you want to come with me?”
Ezra had been shocked that she’d asked him, but immediately accepted. And that had been the beginning of… Ezra didn’t really know what to call it. All he knew was that it had started then and grown into a friendship that was more than just that.
They’d already been friends, of course. But before that, he’d been the kid. That much had always been pretty clear, despite his earliest fumbling attempts to flirt with her. After he’d dropped that, they’d become friends. And after Malachor… he’d felt more alone than he’d ever felt, even on Lothal. Kanan had withdrawn, still recovering from his wounds, and Ezra couldn’t bring himself to talk to his master anyways. Hera had been busy trying to run half the Rebellion on her own and make sure Kanan was alright, and Zeb had been busy helping and making sure she didn’t pass out from exhaustion. So somehow, he and Sabine had ended up spending a lot more time together.
First it was just missions, then it was spending the odd bit of free time together, and then suddenly one day Ezra realized he trusted her more than anyone in the galaxy. That if he could choose one person to fight side by side with, it would always be her.
“Are you still awake over there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Ezra said, snapping out of his thoughts. “Hey— do you ever think about which planets those stars have near them? Like that one.” He pointed at a particularly bright star off to their left. “That could be… Ryloth, maybe.”
“Why Ryloth?”
“Well, Cham’s not gonna settle for some normal star,” Ezra pointed out. “He’s gonna want something real flashy, that everyone can see. Just so everyone can watch while he blows the Empire sky high.”
Sabine laughed, and Ezra felt himself grin in response. There was no feeling better than making someone laugh, and making her laugh— that was the best. “That checks out for Cham. Where’s Lothal, then?”
“Um…” Ezra studied the sky until he found a smaller, out of the way star. “That one. It looks smaller than its friends, but it’s still there. It’s still shining.”
“Hmm, smaller? Reminds me of someone I used to know,” Sabine said slyly.
“Hey— I’m almost taller than you now,” Ezra protested. He couldn’t hold onto his indignation at her laugh, however, finding himself laughing, too.
Spotting another star, he pointed. “Oh! There’s Krownest.”
“How is that Krownest?” Sabine asked, sounding amused.
“Krownest is your home planet— kind of,” Ezra said. “And that star is kinda purple-y looking, if you look close.” Grinning, he said, “There’s no way you could have just a normal colored star, huh?”
For a long, long moment, she was silent, and Ezra was worried that he’d said something wrong. I shouldn’t have mentioned Krownest, he decided, and was opening his mouth to apologize when she spoke. Quick and simple, like she wanted to get the words out before she could really regret it.
“I miss you.”
Ezra blinked, surprised. He sent her a quick glance, unable to read her expression in the dark. “I’m right here,” he pointed out, and the sigh she released was so sad that Ezra felt his own throat tighten with sorrow.
“No, you’re not.”
And there it is, Ezra thought. “No, I’m not,” he agreed. Because there was no way he could really be sitting on top of the Ghost with her, watching Yavin 4’s stars in peace. Yavin 4 was billions of miles away— just how many, he didn’t really know. And so was Sabine.
For the first time, he looked over at her, really looked. She was staring up at the stars, like she didn’t want to meet his eyes. She looked different than the last time he’d seen her, in those last moments in the Imperial complex on Lothal. Older, with her hair chopped short and dyed a deep purple. Her armor looked different, too, and Ezra spotted a purrgil painted on one shoulder pauldron.
She was still as beautiful as she had always been. But Ezra couldn’t really be surprised by that. Sabine being beautiful was just a fact of life, like the sun rising and Kanan being stupidly in love with Hera and the Force being all around them. He wondered if he could tell her without getting smacked, but decided not to risk it.
“I wish you really were here with me,” Sabine said quietly, her voice cracking just the littlest bit. Ezra felt a pang in his chest.
“I’m here,” he told her, reaching out and touching her hand before he could think better of it. “For a little while longer, anyways.”
Her fingers laced around his, and he couldn’t help but think that was where they were meant to be, hand in hand. “You could have made it a little easier to find you,” she said, her voice strengthening.
“You’re right,” Ezra told her. “Next time I shoot myself into hyperspace with the help of space whales that I can’t control, I’ll be more specific about where I end up.”
“I thought you could control these things,” Sabine pointed out. “How did you get them to do all that in the first place?”
“Influence, not control,” Ezra corrected. “Otherwise I would have dumped Thrawn and come home.” He thought of Lothal, hopefully flourishing like he always dreamed it was, and of the Ghost and its crew. The two places that had always been home for him.
“You Jedi and your nuances,” Sabine drawled.
“You Mandalorians and your stubbornness,” Ezra teased back, and they both laughed, the tension between them easing slightly for a moment. He glanced back at her, and found her looking at him for the first time.
Their eyes met, and Ezra felt an unreasonable shiver go down his spine. And then he felt a slight tug in the back of his mind. He was being pulled out of the dream.
“I think I’m about to go,” he said, and felt Sabine’s fingers tighten around his.
“It’ll be okay,” she said, her voice rushed. “We’ll find you, I promise. I didn’t give up, I swear.”
“I know,” Ezra said, summoning up a grin. “You never quit. I remember.”
A matching smile crossed Sabine’s face, and she opened her mouth to respond—
Ezra jerked upright, nearly falling out of his perch in a tree far, far above the jungle floor. Grabbing a branch, he sucked in a shaky breath. Whoa.
The dream had felt so real— and it wasn’t the first of its kind. I wonder which would be worse— seeing her and knowing she’s not real, or not seeing her at all. But Ezra knew he wouldn’t trade it, even if he had to wake up every time to reality. A reality that was, unfortunately, far away from her.
Sighing, he resettled himself in a position between two tree branches and closed his eyes, trying to get back to sleep. His last thought before he dropped off, as it often was, was of her.
Billions of miles away, a Mandalorian girl was doing much the same thing as she tried not to think too much about what her dream had meant. It was just wishful thinking, she told herself. How could he even reach me through a dream? That’s impossible, isn’t it?
But maybe it isn’t, her mind whispered as she curled up in her bunk, hand automatically slipping around the lightsaber she kept with her at all times. And if it isn’t, that means he’s alive. He’s out there, somewhere.
We both just have to hang on a little longer, Ezra. I’ll find you. I know I will.