10.
It seemed an age since Sabé had slept this late.
She tried to hold onto the dream she was having, something about a boy with waves of dark hair, like hers, but with the bluest of eyes, like Obi-Wan's. The dream was sweet but overwhelming, and upon waking she realized it had frightened her, too. A cloaked figure had reached a powerful gloved hand toward that boy, and all she could do was watch him walk toward it, weeping for him as he left everything he loved behind…but now that she was awake the whole scene slipped away faster than a receding tide, taking her panic with it.
After a shiver-inducing stretch, she flung a lazy arm toward Obi-Wan's side of the bed. But he wasn't there.
Reluctantly slitting her eyes, she spied her open bedroom door, heard the twins babbling happily, smelled fresh caf and something absolutely grand: the sugary scent of pancakes cooking on a griddle.
As tired as she was, the prospect of real pancakes for breakfast roused her. A smile had crept across her face before she'd even pushed herself to sitting and swung her legs over the edge of the warm, rumpled bed. She took a few breaths and folded in half to retrieve her robe, discarded on the floor next to the bed in her haste to fall into Obi-Wan's arms last night. If there was a better excuse to become slovenly so late in life, she had yet to discover it.
Sabé padded barefoot into the kitchen and saw as she tied her robe that Obi-Wan had laid the children on their backs on a blanket atop the living room rug…while four little plush creatures-bantha, dewback, tauntaun, and nerf-rotated over their heads unaided by strings or wires, a Jedi's makeshift mobile. Luke and Leia tried to catch the tiny beasts, kicking their pajama-clad legs as they giggled. When she turned, Sabé's mouth dropped open as she realized that Obi-Wan was casually controlling the toys while he cooked, his attention seemingly only on the golden round discs cooking on the pan in front of him.
"Dantooine flapjacks," he said with a grin in her direction, "with my own variation of a Pikobi egg to thicken the mix. I confess, I tasted the batter, and you're right, they're very sweet."
"Why are you doing all this?" Sabé asked through a yawn as she crossed to him. "I could've fed the kids. You should've woken me."
"And you should've slept longer, my love," he chastised gently. "You've been so tired this week."
He lay several strips of tailring bacon into another pan ("Dex would cringe if I bought anything else," Obi-Wan had opined when he'd returned from the market the day before) and waved a hand over it so that the greasy spatter remained contained just above the hot surface, then he used the spatula in his other hand to flip the two flapjacks, perfectly golden brown now. A stack of them waited on a plate next to the cooktop.
Closing her eyes, Sabé inhaled the delicacies, wondering how in the stars such good fortune had befallen her. She felt Obi-Wan's lips over her own and opened her eyes to see a twinkle in his as he pulled away.
"Oh, and good morning," he said softly.
"Very, very good," she agreed, standing behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist as he took some tongs to flip the bacon, his other hand pressed warmly over hers.
She loved nuzzling into the scent at the base of his neck and rubbing her cheek along the breadth of his shoulders. He'd thrown on his sleep pants and a loose tunic, his hair adorably disheveled, face still creased from the pillow, beard unkempt. This was how she loved him best, at his simplest and most unguarded. It was as though their time together had deconstructed the both of them to their most basic selves. For her part, Sabé felt freer now, and yet more fiercely attached, than she ever had in her life or career. She saw her future aligned with the man in her arms, felt it as surely as blood coursed through her veins.
Tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes, and she hugged him tighter, burying her nose between his shoulder blades.
"It's only breakfast," Obi-Wan chuckled, trailing his fingers along the backs of her forearms around his waist.
It's more than that, she mused, though she couldn't have explained why. Or rather, she could…but she'd never believed in, much less experienced, precognition. She was still trying to process the stirring images that had burst forth in her mind when they'd meditated two weeks ago. She'd seen herself and Obi-Wan fighting side by side in the darkness-that had been simple enough to interpret. Then there had been Luke and Leia, hurtling hand-in-hand into the future together. But who was that dark-haired boy who lost everything? She'd seen a lonesome girl—herself?—staring into a fire on a desert planet, talking with someone she longed to see but could not. And she'd seen herself pregnant, bathed in white light, with Obi-Wan next to her.
How could she explain all of that to him?
Even though she hadn't used birth control since she'd ended things with Rupan, she hadn't believed she was pregnant at the time of the vision. Hadn't Obi-Wan told her that Qui-Gon had encouraged him to pursue a relationship if he desired? And that permissiveness included educating himself about precautions? And Obi-Wan had said nothing about that part of the vision. Had he shared it? Or did that mean it was of no immediate concern?
A shock wave jolted her when she realized how blind she'd been.
Obi-Wan hadn't pursued a woman. Until her. Therefore he'd had no reason to seek contraception. Until her. And to her knowledge, he hadn't done so.
Nor had she.
Her cycle had been off since Padmé died, which was nothing unusual for her in times of emotional distress, but some quick mental arithmetic revealed she ought to have had two since her last one. She hadn't.
She continued to cling, wide-eyed, to his waist as she felt herself spiral into a daze.
A knock at the door and a throaty voice calling, "Wake up, pateesas!" shook her from her wondering.
"Linz," said Obi-Wan as he poured two more flapjacks onto the griddle. "Invite her for breakfast. We've got plenty. It's the least we can do."
It was true. Linz had been such a help, dropping in to clean up from time to time while they took the kids out for a walk.
Before she turned, quiet thumps near the twins drew Sabé's attention; Obi-Wan had let the plush creatures fall to the floor next to the children, who flapped their arms in confusion at the undoing of their amusement. The bacon began to spatter on the cooktop.
Tugging the sash of her robe tighter, Sabé checked the monitor by the door and saw that Linz was alone. She opened the door with what she hoped was a relaxed smile and took a step backward to allow the Besalisk—and the scent of cigarillo that clung to her skin and clothing—inside.
"Look at those beautiful babies!" she exclaimed as she pounded across the space with barely a wave at Obi-Wan, who called his hello to her broad back. "So big! So sweet!"
She leaned forward with two hands on her knees and two tickling Luke and Leia under their chins, eliciting delighted grins and a gurgle from Luke.
"You can see how smart they are already," she said sagely as she stood up and turned to face the adults. "The wisdom of children is plain in their eyes. Wise, old eyes, they have."
"I agree," said Obi-Wan with a glance at Sabé, who couldn't help smiling. They'd made that same observation more than once.
"We're about to sit down for breakfast," she said, grateful for the temporary distraction from her jarring epiphany. She'd have to confront it soon enough-but first, sustenance. "Would you like to join us, Linz?"
"Thanks, but I'm on my way to work. Just wanted to check on your little family." Linz hunched forward, squinting her reptilian eyes at Sabé's face. "How is it you look more tired than you did two months ago? I know the babies are sleeping. I haven't heard them through the floor."
Sabé leaned back against the counter with a sidelong glance at Obi-Wan, who had his back to Linz as he transferred the bacon from the pan to a plate. A look of guilty satisfaction made his beard twitch. A proper peacock, this one, so proud of his ability to keep her awake when she should be asleep. She pressed her lips together to suppress her grin.
"Ah, you don't need to explain," chuckled Linz with a wag of her thick fingers. "Babies need care, but so do parents. I'm right, aren't I?"
"You are," admitted Sabé with a stroke along Obi-Wan's arm, and he returned the affection by pressing a quick kiss to her temple.
A thrill coursed through her at that simple action, for this was the first time they'd been able to show their love for one another in front of someone they knew. The masquerade of husband-and-wife was about to become reality, and a flush of joy rose in her cheeks. Sabé had wanted to delay the wedding until the end of Naboo's traditional three-month mourning period, and she'd been so run down these days that it was probably sensible to take a few weeks to plan and organize; but in truth she could hardly wait to say her vows.
"Glad to see you making some time for each other," Linz said. "You haven't taken your evening walks lately, though."
It was true. Since that strange encounter in the park, they'd decided to heed Yoda's warnings against exposing the twins to strangers.
"Oh, we switched to morning walks," said Sabé. "The kids are more alert then. They seem to enjoy it. Besides," she went on with a lilt in her voice, "Ben is a morning person."
Obi-Wan laughed. Flapjacks and bacon aside, they both knew that was a lie.
"Well, if you want an evening out, you should swing by Club Deeja. Mekken's been asking about you."
"Your cousin is still a bouncer there?"
"He is. Deres doesn't like it, but she keeps her mouth shut. They have two little ones at home, did you know?"
"I didn't!" Sabé smiled, imagining just how little two young Besalisks might be. The news pleased her. In contrast to the gruff demeanor he presented at the club, Mekken possessed a kind and gentle soul; he'd make a great father. "Have I been away that long? Send him my congratulations."
"Tell him yourself!" said Linz with a poke at Sabé's shoulder. "You two need to get out more. Melodic Order has an early hologram show every night. Take the children."
"That's a good idea. Thanks, Linz."
"Listen." Linz's tone dropped to a hush and her brow furrowed as she gazed at each of the humans in turn, as though to make sure she had their full attention. "There's something else I should tell you. I know our neighborhood isn't the best, but—"
The quiet bing of the commlink announced someone at the door.
"That must be the medical droid," said Obi-Wan as he carried the plates of flapjacks and bacon to the dining table.
"Here for the twins' three-month checkup? They have very doting grandparents."
"They worry," he added with a solemn wink.
"Understandable," she replied, eyes crinkling in a knowing grin. "I'll leave you, then. Don't want to be late for work."
"What were you going to say? About the neighborhood?" asked Sabé as she crossed to the door with her.
"It's probably nothing." Linz pressed her wide lips together in a frown before going on. "A few days ago I saw a stranger lurking about."
"What did he look like?" asked Obi-Wan, stopping with a rag in his hand as he was about to wipe down the countertop.
"Human male, I think. I couldn't see clearly. It was dark."
Sabé saw her worry mirrored in Obi-Wan's eyes.
"Just be careful," said Linz. "You never know."
"We will," Obi-Wan assured her.
"Promise," Sabé agreed. She gave Linz's meaty shoulder a squeeze before the Besalisk took her leave, allowing the medic to float inside toward the infants still cooing and kicking their feet on their blanket.
"Until we go to Dantooine," Sabé muttered after she'd closed the door, "we need to be more subtle about all this." She gestured toward the droid, the hoverpram, and everything else Bail Organa had provided. "Our neighbors don't have the means for such luxury."
"It's not thieves who worry me," said Obi-Wan. He bit down on whatever he wanted to say next, but Sabé thought she knew.
"You're right. We've drawn attention, and we can't rule out that whoever was lurking out there wanted us. Whether it's a common thief or one of Palpatine's minions looking for you," she said, "we have to leave, and soon."
Her eyes raked her small apartment, the space that had nurtured her through the loss of her father, then her mother, now Padmé…and seen the addition of two beautiful infants and the love of the man she never thought she'd see again, much less marry. It would pain her to leave this place. But leave they must.
A wave of fatigue made her reach for a chair and sit heavily in it. Just now work with the Rebellion seemed a tall order; she hadn't even managed to put on proper clothing yet. She reached for a piece of bacon and took a bite, then raised her eyes to find Obi-Wan scrutinizing her, a vertical wrinkle between his brows betraying his concern.
"I think—" Sabé swallowed. The tailring left a greasy aftertaste in her mouth. "I think the medic needs to draw my blood."
Instead of appearing surprised, Obi-Wan merely nodded in agreement.
"I'll get dressed," she said, heaving to her feet and feeling his eyes on her back as she crossed to the bedroom. It would take the droid a few more minutes to examine Luke and Leia and to speak with Obi-Wan. Maybe by then the blood would have returned to her buzzing head.
While she picked out clothes at random and automatically put them on, Sabé heard the droid intone its results: the children remained healthy, all objective measurements "within normal parameters." Then it asked Obi-Wan its series of subjective questions: were the babies sleeping, eating, crying, laughing, tracking objects with their eyes, pushing up with their arms when on their stomachs, and so forth. The droid recorded the murmured responses one by one into its databanks.
Silence told Sabé they'd concluded. She glanced in the bedroom mirror on her way back to the office and saw a pale face with colorless lips staring back at her. When she turned Obi-Wan was there, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. He reached a hand out, and when she clasped it he pulled her into him, wrapping strong arms around her waist.
"Let's find out," he whispered into her ear before he kissed it.
Her heart thudded in response, and she nodded against his cheek.
They sat together on the couch and Sabé asked the droid to administer the test.
It was a simple procedure. A needle stick, insertion of the blood sample into a panel, and a rapid announcement in velvety metallic tones: "Human female, pregnant."
With a pounding heart, Sabé looked at Obi-Wan. Instead of finding doubt or worry on his face, she saw him close his eyes and then open them again in wonder, an expression of awe that slowly bloomed into a smile, which matched an altogether unexpected excitement growing in her chest.
They reached for each other's faces and kissed, a gentle seal on the news they'd just received.
"I can perform a sonogram," said the droid, heedless of the parents' reactions, "if you would like to see the fetus. I would be able to estimate the date of conception and offer an expected due date, as well, if you wish."
"Yes, of course, yes," came Obi-Wan's immediate response to the droid. He turned his flushed face back to Sabé. "I mean, if you want—"
"Don't be silly," Sabé interrupted with a smile. "Let's take a look."
She lay back on the couch and slid her dark leggings down a few inches so the droid could place its smooth instrument on her lower belly. Obi-Wan, seated beside her outstretched legs, grasped her hand as a small door in the droid's chest glided open to reveal a screen. On it appeared a black-and-white image of a tiny, nut-shaped form, inside which an undulating movement pulsed; the droid explained that was its heartbeat.
A heartbeat.
Obi-Wan's hand squeezed hers harder and she looked up to see his eyes glistening with emotion as he watched the little being on the screen. She looked back, drawn by the infinitesimal heart's soundless but insistent beat-beat-beat-beat, and felt her own eyes fill with tears.
Perhaps they'd been foolish to let this happen, but just now she could only feel that it was absolutely right.
"Single fetus, viable," reported the droid. "Gestation: approximately eight standard weeks. Estimated due date: thirty-two standard weeks from today."
A spring baby, if they stayed on Naboo—which, Sabé had to remind herself, they hadn't planned to do. At least Dantooine had a similar climate, with lots of lakes and rivers. Raising children there might feel like home.
"Thank you," she managed, sitting up and giving a nod to the droid. "That will be all."
Before it left it communicated information to Sabé's datapad regarding prenatal care, diet, exercise, and a schedule of checkups and sonograms. It left without a word of congratulations.
As soon as Obi-Wan closed the door he rushed back to Sabé's side, kneeling in front of her on the rug and pressing lips to her cheeks and mouth, his hands cradling her jaw, and she accepted his attentions hungrily as she drank in in the sight of his sunkissed beard, his golden lashes, the fine lines around his eyes.
"Sabé," he said at last, leaning his forehead against hers. "You've blessed me with so many gifts."
"I hadn't planned—" she began, but she didn't want to diminish this moment with excuses. "I didn't think—"
"Nor did I," he said, shaking his head. "I should have told you I wasn't protected—"
"And so should I. I thought you must—I never thought we'd actually—"
A rumble of laughter cut her off. "No, I didn't, either. And I shouldn't have assumed that you'd taken—"
"Obi-Wan." She took his jaw in her hands, rubbing her fingers through his beard. "We haven't even talked about whether we want a child of our own."
He grew still. The blue of his eyes seemed to deepen as they looked into hers. "Yes. I do."
A rush of relief flooded her, making her dizzy, for she was surprised to discover that she wanted this baby, too. Very much, in fact. "You're sure?"
"The Jedi are an endangered species," said Obi-Wan as he joined her on the couch, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously. "Shouldn't we reproduce?"
Now it was her turn to laugh, though something about the way he looked at her made her giddy with desire. She quickly put on a straight face. "I suppose that would be a rational course of action."
He smirked, but when he replied his tone was earnest. "There's nothing rational or calculated about this. I'm beginning to think it's purely natural. Inevitable, perhaps."
Pressing his lips together while he thought, he ran his fingers along her hairline and down the nape of her neck, giving her shivers of pleasure. When he spoke again his voice was firm, full of conviction, and his eyes bore into hers as though he were already speaking his wedding vows to her.
"You've made a man of me, Sabé. A husband. A father. This is as it should be."
He sat back and pulled her into him, and she rested her head under his chin. His arm lay along her side, fingers sliding between the thigh and calf of one of the legs she'd tucked under her. For a time they watched the children, now asleep on their blanket on the floor, pinkies touching, their menagerie still scattered around them like a constellation of stars.
"Qui-Gon always wondered," he went on quietly, his voice rumbling under her cheek, "why the Jedi preferred to distance themselves from the very rites of passage that would complete their understanding of life as men and women. He yearned for a more holistic experience, and spoke of it often. I think the others on the Council thought he merely wanted to excuse what they referred to as his 'dalliances.' I admit I wondered that, too, when I was old enough to think of such things. But now…"
Obi-Wan's stomach rose and fell in a sigh. He reached for Sabé's waist and rested a warm palm on her still-flat belly.
With a wrench of her heart, Sabé realized he'd spoken of the Jedi in the past tense. There were so few left, all of them scattered, unsure how to reach one another, or whether they should attempt it. Many more would be hunted down and killed. Had they already? She and Obi-Wan had been so happy they'd stopped reading the holos as often. She made a mental note to revisit that practice.
But just now they had other matters to consider.
"I never thought I'd be in a position to have a child," she admitted. "My work was—is—too dangerous. None of Padmé's other handmaidens had husbands or children. They took lovers, but always without risk. In a way, our lives as handmaidens were not unlike that of the Jedi. We committed our lives to a cause, forsaking all else. Forsaking our own futures."
Obi-Wan's arms tightened around her, and she knew that he understood.
She grew silent, thinking about how Padmé couldn't blame her handmaiden for wanting a life of her own. If she'd only known that Sabé was merely stepping from one denial into another, fleeing a man whom she'd thought could never share her life.
After a sigh, she went on. "When I transferred to the Rebellion, it was the same. Some people had partners, but many found it simpler not to, or to be casual about it. I held myself at arm's length from people." She flushed, though they were long past being coy about her romantic history. "From men. It seemed the intelligent thing to do. Aside from the fact that there was one man I dreamed of."
A smile spread across Obi-Wan's face, and Sabé thought her heart would crack in two at the pride and love she read there.
"But even with him—" She sat up to face the man himself, raked her fingers through his beard. "—I was quite good at holding myself apart, for many long years."
"Until Padmé drew us together," said Obi-Wan, catching her fingers and kissing them again, "despite ourselves."
Sabé smiled through a stab of grief. "She was never one to be denied."
"Nor are you." He pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart. "Or the Force, for that matter. It's said that the Force never fails."
He was quiet, and Sabé knew he was thinking of all those who lay dead at its feet.
"Maybe I should give the Force some of the credit for bringing me to you," he said. "Or you to me."
Sabé remembered what she'd overheard Yoda telling Bail's hologram on Polis Massa, that perhaps Obi-Wan's path ran alongside hers somehow. No. What he'd said was that he sensed Obi-Wan was destined to walk this path to prepare him for his future. Whatever that meant.
A hollow feeling in her stomach made her lean forward to press her lips to her betrothed's. They would make their future, together, with their lost friends' children and their own. Sabé had to believe that.
"I never told you what I saw when we meditated," said Obi-Wan as he drew back, his hand still over the one resting on his chest. He hesitated before he spoke, as though he wasn't sure if he should, or whether he ought to share everything.
"I saw myself pregnant," Sabé blurted out.
"So did I." He didn't seem surprised.
Happiness fluttered in her chest, as she remembered the feeling that had enveloped her during that part of the vision. All the more now, knowing that he'd shared it.
"But that wasn't the first time," Obi-Wan went on. "Similar images have dominated my dreams for weeks now. About eight, to be precise. I never said anything to you because—" He paused again. Though he, too, smiled, he looked far away for a moment, his face careworn. He shook himself and went on, the light coming back to his eyes as though it had never been absent. "Well, I thought it was wishful thinking on my part."
"You should've told me," she said gently.
"I know," he replied, bringing her fingers to his lips before clasping them in his own. "But Jedi are taught to be wary of visions. Our own fears and desires can warp what we think we see."
"Ah," she said. "But we both saw this."
He nodded. "And we both saw us fighting alongside the Rebel Alliance."
"Even if everything else we saw—"
He held up a hand. "Let's not examine it yet. For the moment, we can be satisfied that we are in agreement. If nothing else, the Force confirmed our desires are one, and perhaps that is enough for now. We will marry. We will have this child, and we will love him."
"Or her."
"Or her." His broad smile preceded a conciliatory bow of his head. "We'll raise Luke and Leia as our own. And we'll work for the Rebellion. Together."
Although she'd caught the flicker of his eyes toward her belly and noticed that he had said "work for" rather than "fight for," Sabé thought that was indeed enough, for now. The conversation about the ongoing use of her considerable fighting skills during her pregnancy could wait for another day.
"So," he said as his fingers stroked her belly, "perhaps we should set a wedding date?"
"As wise as he is handsome," replied Sabé.
Obi-Wan chuckled.
"I've nearly finished altering my gown."
"And you still won't let me see it?" He kept rubbing the skin under her tunic, giving her tingles.
With effort, she shook her head. He'd asked every day since she'd taken her mother's dress out of storage, and she wasn't about to cave now.
"Sitting out here while you've been working on your very secret project, I'm fairly certain I've read every book you own three times by now."
"No such thing as too much wisdom," she quipped, eliciting another laugh. But he seemed far too delighted by his banishment; perhaps he deserved a little mercy in return for his patience.
"Shall we ask Bail to stand as witness?" she offered.
"You read my mind," he said with a smile. "What about our other happy news?"
"Let's wait," she said, though part of her fairly ached to share it, as though speaking it aloud to others would make it more real. "You're still a wanted man. The Emperor would redouble his efforts if he thought he could take your child, too."
His mouth became a thin line. "Of course. Let's keep mum about it until we're safe at the Rebel base."
"Let me contact the Sisterhood and see if they could marry us next week," Sabé said. "Our cover story for Linz and the other neighbors, if they see us dressed up, could be the blessing of the children. We'll do that at the temple, too, at the same time."
"As wise as she is beautiful," he said with a half-grin, and Sabé rewarded him with a poke in the ribs.
"I'll send Bail a message about standing as witness."
"Good," said Obi-Wan. "And…I ought to tell Yoda."
As though in response to the idea of that confrontation, Luke chose that moment to wake up. He cried lustily, smacking his sister's cheek with a flailing arm. She growled and, red-faced, drowned out his protestations with her howling.
"Well, perhaps after we tend the children," Obi-Wan said, hoisting himself to his feet. "Bottles or nappies?"
"I'll change them this time."
"Bless you," he breathed as he crossed to the kitchen to warm the milk.
Kneeling before the louder baby, Sabé picked up Leia first, remembering with a wry smile her father's favorite idiom, The squeaky wheel gets the grease. He meant that in reference to Sabé demanding what she knew she deserved, whether at school or work. Somehow she didn't doubt that Leia would get everything she wanted. Luke might have to work harder or longer, but he'd be fine, too.
And together they'd be unstoppable.
As she changed one nappy and then the next, she considered what Obi-Wan had reported from his last conversation with Yoda, that the children might be some sort of beacon in the Force. She certainly couldn't imagine her life without them now, but she'd put that down to spending three months with them. They were Padmé's children and she loved Padmé. And she had grown to love the children, too, with all her heart.
But there was something more. She knew it, somehow. She'd seen it in Obi-Wan, even before she'd fallen in love with him.
Sabé frowned. Those people who'd swarmed them in the park had seen it, too. So had countless others who'd stopped to ooh and aah over the twins on their evening walks before then.
Without realizing it she'd grown still, her hand settled over her belly.
"Ready," said Obi-Wan when he returned with the bottles.
She blinked and shook the worry from her mind; there was time enough for that later. They settled on the couch together, and once more she was struck by how calm Obi-Wan seemed with Luke in his arms. If she knew ahead of time she had to confront someone, she would already be rehearsing the scenario in her mind, trying to anticipate every argument, mentally finessing her own retorts.
Not Obi-Wan. He seemed, if anything, more resolved than he had been before he'd decided that today was the day to contact the little old Master.
To him, there was no shame in the turn their plans had taken, the two rivers of their lives converging as one, wherever they may lead. And if he wouldn't quail under the judgmental gaze of a respected elder, nor would she.
The cool autumn sun blazed into the kitchen and dining area when she reheated their untouched breakfast. As she poured two cups of caf, the fatigue hit her again; if she were a cat, she'd gladly curl into the spot of warmth on the floor runner near the door. After placing the twins in their crib for their morning nap, Obi-Wan shooed Sabé toward the table, where she gratefully sat while he brought over the warmed plates. The greasy pans still sat in the sink, but she couldn't bring herself to feel annoyed by the mess after the lengths he'd gone to this morning to care for her—before he'd even had confirmation that she was pregnant.
While they ate, they talked about the ceremony, and she showed him some vows on her datapad that the Sisterhood of Requiescence had suggested. Obi-Wan's smile transformed his face as he nodded his approval.
At last it was time. Obi-Wan crossed to the living room and, after leaning over the crib to make sure the children still slept soundly, sat in the desk chair in front of the hologram projector. Sabé insisted on washing the dishes while he contacted Yoda, to give him some privacy, assuring him she'd join him in the conversation if he deemed it appropriate.
Her heart pounded when she heard Yoda's voice.
"Master Obi-Wan."
"Master Yoda. Greetings. I trust you are well."
"Indeed I am. And well you are, Senator Organa tells me."
Their conversation was so stilted and distant that Sabé could only wonder again at what had really been said during their last interaction.
"We are. The children are thriving. Sabé and I are happy. In fact—" She heard him shift in his seat and glanced up to see he'd leaned forward in the chair. "—we have good news. We've decided to marry."
There was a lengthy silence, during which Sabé had to force her eyes to remain on the dishes in the sink.
"Good news is it, for the last Jedi to abandon his Order?"
"There is no Order," said Obi-Wan. "And I'm hardly the last."
"Others we have not yet found alive."
"Luke and Leia are strong in the Force. My place is with them and the woman I love. We can make sure they will carry on—"
"The Jedi way? Or your way?"
Yoda's words met silence.
"Inherited Qui-Gon's defiance you have."
"He'd be proud to see I've finally learned his teachings."
"The Order's teachings those were not."
"I'm well aware," said Obi-Wan. "As a Jedi I was taught self-reliance, but only within the constraints of what the Order permitted. In a sense, one could say the Jedi were trained to remain childlike. Even the Masters behaved as the children of the older Masters on the Council, until the older Masters died and the younger ones took up the mantle of 'parent' themselves. Qui-Gon refused this power imbalance, this endless parent-child dynamic, saying that it defied the natural laws of growth and maturity. He yearned for the day that I would outgrow him, for he knew that the fullness of life could only be experienced this way. I happen to agree with him now."
"Failed him you have."
There was a pause. "I'm sorry you feel that way."
"A Jedi craves not happiness. Fleeting, it is."
"The Jedi are decimated. Would you have me waste away, alone for the rest of my life? People aren't meant to be alone, and neither were the Jedi. That was why there were always Masters and Padawans."
"Grieving, you are. As I am. But alone I have never felt. "
Something about the pause following those words made Sabé look up again as she dried a dish. The diminutive figure had leaned forward as though trying to see Obi-Wan more clearly.
"Feel, do you, that the Force has abandoned you?"
"No." Obi-Wan sat up straighter. "I feel that it has guided me here. It's with me. With us."
Sabé saw him clamp his mouth shut as though biting back more. With our child, she was certain he was about to say.
Yoda merely closed his eyes and lowered his head, and she couldn't discern whether he wore a look of resignation or disappointment.
"Strong the Force is, with all of you." He raised his eyes. The flickering blue light surged for a moment as his piercing gaze settled once more unwaveringly on Obi-Wan. "Too strong. Of your own making this trap is."
Obi-Wan folded his hands in his lap and sighed heavily. "We've made arrangements to relocate to Dantooine. The children will be safe there, on the Rebel base."
"Until the day they are not." Obi-Wan inhaled to speak, but Yoda went on. "Endanger others, you will. Soon enough Darth Sidious will follow your light, if sensed it already he has not. Too bright it is."
Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder at the sleeping babies. Finally he turned back to the hologram, his jaw set and eyes ablaze. "And where else, pray tell, would they be safer, if not with a Jedi and a professional bodyguard?"
"Please you, my answer will not," Yoda replied. "And hear it, you will not. Not today."
"I'm certain you'll inform me when I am ready to hear it, Master Yoda."
Yoda drew himself up, returning Obi-Wan's glare with a raised chin.
Slowly, Obi-Wan reached forward and switched off the projector. The ghostlike image flickered and disappeared, leaving him to rub his palms absently along the tops of his thighs as he stared at the empty spot for several long seconds.
"Well," he said at length, running a hand through his hair, "that went well."
"It's lovely to know he's so happy for us." Sabé put down the dish she'd been drying for the past two minutes and went to him. She straddled his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips there as he ran his hands up her back and into her hair. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"We have nothing to be sorry about," he said, rubbing a scruffy cheek against hers. "Happiness may be fleeting, but love is eternal. It seems he's lost sight of that after nine hundred years."
"Maybe so," Sabé agreed. She sat back to look at him. Although his face was serious, his eyes focused entirely on her. He was with her. If Yoda's words had troubled him, they had not swayed him.
"At least that's over," he said. "We don't have to hide our love from anyone."
Smiling, she understood that he was right, even as a pang in her chest reminded her of the queen who'd had to hide her love-a love that had been her undoing.
"Yoda said I'd failed Qui-Gon," he went on, "but that's not entirely true. If I've failed him, it's only by learning his truths too late to be of any use to Anakin. I wish-" A wry smile darkened his features as his gaze flickered down to the hands she'd rested on his chest.. "Well, the same thing I've wished every day since-" He still couldn't bring himself to say it. Since Anakin died. Since I killed him.
If love was eternal, so was grief.
Sabé pressed her lips to his, letting herself drown for a moment with him. Finally he drew back and captured her eyes again. "But if none of that happened-"
"Then none of this would have happened." She nodded. "I believe that."
"The Force never fails."