Uh, so apparently when I set out to write a nice chapter of promised 'family wholesomeness', I accidentally wrote 4000+ words of domestic fluff?

Apologies for this monstrously-sized chapter. I hope that it makes for enjoyable reading :)

A note on the Mando'a in this chapter: as Mando'a is sadly not a fully-formed language (I cannot find the Mando'an words for all the things I would like to say), in the first scene I have italicised speech to indicate when Mando'a is spoken rather than Basic. The second scene would have been spoken entirely in Mando'a, so I didn't bother italicising. Hopefully that makes sense!

Obi Wan woke to movement beneath his resting hands, and the grumbling of a child.

His child.

The revelation was stunning to him, a ball of warmth in his chest. He had slept embracing his child for the first time in his life. And what a wasted life it seemed until this moment.

Satine was cleared not incapacitated by any such revelations; through bleary eyes and the faint predawn light, Obi Wan watched her gather the child to her chest and make to stand. He laid his hands upon her shoulders.

"Don't get up," he managed, through a yawn. "You're the only one of us who hasn't slept yet tonight."

She turned her head to look at him, a faint smirk on her face.

"He needs changing, Obi Wan."

"I'll do it," he assured her hurriedly.

Satine laughed at him in his enthusiasm. By the stars. She was the most beautiful creature in this universe.

"You don't know where anything is," she protested.

He had fallen asleep holding his child and holding Satine. Surely, everything was finally right in the galaxy. On this morning, he could do anything. Obi Wan sprang unsteadily to his feet and clambered from behind her.

"I trust you've put everything somewhere logical," he mused, heading towards a chest of drawers and finding, on his second attempt, the drawer full of nappies and wipes. "See? Easy."

Satine snorted and shook her head in feigned disapproval as she patted their irritable child on his back.

"You have to weigh the wet nappy," she informed him. "To track his fluid balance."

"Not a problem, Satine. The scales are…"

He swept into the ensuite.

"In the bathroom next to the bin. Your logic is impeccable, dearest."

"He mightn't let you do it," Satine warned in low tones, as Obi Wan approached the bed once more. "He's been irritable, and you know he doesn't speak any Basic yet."

Obi Wan knelt and laid a hand on his son's back.

"Come with me, Korkie. Let me clean you up before you go back to bed with Mama."

All levity dropped from Satine's face as she looked at him in perfect shock.

"You've been practising Mando'a."

"It's the language that my family speaks."

Korkie extended his arms towards Obi Wan, who took him in his arms.

"Lie down, Satine," he urged, gently.

Satine complied with a yawn.

"They don't even… teach it at the Temple. They don't teach it anywhere. Where did you-"

"From a young Mando'ad studying politics at the Elysium," Obi Wan explained, laying Korkie down and removing his wet nappy. "You'll have to give him a job one day."

Obi Wan wiped his son clean and fastened his new nappy with the utmost care.

"Here, Korkie, that's a little better, no?"

Korkie turned his head to face his mother.

"Dada speaks Mando'a."

"Indeed he does, Korkie."

Obi Wan gathered Korkie in his arms and laid him down on the bed beside his mother, before taking the nappy into the ensuite and placing it on the scales. He was recording the weight in Satine's handmade fluid balance chart – a piece of flimsi that had perhaps been recycled from a shoebox – when his son's tiny voice carried to his ears.

"Dada come to bed?"

And Obi Wan froze, for he did not know the answer to that question.

The silence in the bedroom seemed enormous – but it must have only been seconds before Satine's voice drifted towards him through the night air.

"Come. Just take your boots off this time."

Obi Wan moved as in slow motion. Washing his hands. Padding across the tiled floor and back onto carpet. Taking his boots from his feet. This small step felt like sudden nakedness. He had not been so much as barefoot before her since they parted over two years ago. Obi Wan hesitated, then removed his belt and tabards. He would leave his undershirt on. He would not push her too far; he would not make her change her mind. (Surely, surely at some moment she would change her mind, and it would all come crashing down.) Satine was watching him and he could not make out the look in her eyes.

The sheets on this untouched side of the bed were cool and soft. Obi Wan lowered himself as though the bed might collapse beneath him. But it did not.

His head on the pillow. Pulling the blanket over his body. And slowly, delicately, extending his hand so that it lay between them, above his child's sleeping head.

Satine's hand came to meet his. And he knew as soon as she touched him that everything would be alright.

"I've figured out how to make it better," he told her.

"How?"

"I'm going to stop pretending that I don't love you."

He had told her that he loved her with a vibroblade to his neck when the revolution seemed to be collapsing. It had been the first time that he had done so and he had assumed it would be the last. He had said it to her with barely any air left in his lungs; he had sent those words to her with all the strength his desperate heart could muster. He had never said it to her like this. Soft and quiet.

"I have to finish what I've started with Anakin," he admitted. "But if you'll let me, Satine…"

His eyes were welling with tears. No matter.

"I would rather love you and be lightyears apart than be in the same room as you telling myself I don't love you."

And Satine gave a slow, and no less tearful smile.

"I would rather that too."

Their fingers, which had been loosely touching, came to firmly intertwine.

"I've not stopped loving you for a moment, Satine," Obi Wan assured her, speaking with new fervour. "Truly. I did everything wrong and I'm so sorry but truly I-"

"Obi Wan."

No one said his name as she did.

"We have an hour and a half until I must get out of bed and begin my day," she said, voice calm and patient. "Stop apologising and let us have this moment."

Obi Wan swiped the tears from his eyes and mustered a smile.

"You sound a wise Jedi, Satine."

"I am a wise Mando'ad," she corrected him. "Now sleep with me, please."

Her thumb traced the back of his hand. His head was so heavy against the pillow.

"Satine…"

"Sleep, Obi Wan."

"Alright, dearest."

Satine hurried to silence her alarm. On a regular day, she had no need for such a tool – Korkie always woke early in the morning, as young children do, and she enjoyed the privilege of waking to the babble of a child.

Today, Korkie slept through the brief buzzing of the alarm. Satine's eyes found the steady rise and fall of his chest and then, satisfied, her eyes wandered to her third bed-partner.

Stars. If he weren't still there this morning, she'd have sworn it was all a moonlit dream.

But there was no time to gawk at the Jedi in her bed. She'd allowed herself little time to dress and prepare for the day and she needed a shower. Despite his protestations that he was not really hurt, Obi Wan had managed to leak some blood onto her back from the wound in his shoulder. And the front of her nightgown had been rather generously drenched by Korkie's feverish sweats.

She left the shower cold in the hopes that it would clear her head. What exactly was she supposed to be doing today? Discussions on road repairs, setting the agenda for the upcoming Clan meeting regarding women's rights – sure to be a nightmare – and something she couldn't quite remember about the price of grains. Road repairs, women's rights, the price of grains. As she dressed she pressed her mind to focus but wasn't convinced.

As she affixed bracelets to her wrists she found Obi Wan's eyes upon her. He was still in the throes of sleep, effortfully waking. She crossed the room hurriedly and came to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll ensure no one comes in," she assured him. "I'll see you at lunchtime and we can sort out some proper arrangements. But for now you can just stay in the bedroom and look after Korkie, if you don't mind."

Rolling onto his back to look up at her, he managed a crooked smile.

"What else would I do with my day, Satine?"

"Fair point," she conceded. "Doctor Jerac will come in to check on Korkie. She's already keeping secrets for me so you can be transparent with her. Otherwise it should be a quiet morning. I'll put his bottle at the bedside so that he can have some milk if he's hungry."

"Sounds idyllic," Obi Wan murmured, rolling onto his side once more and placing a protective arm over his sleeping child.

It was time for Satine to walk away. Her hand was still on his shoulder.

Before she could think the better of it she bent and kissed his head.

"I'll see you at lunchtime," she repeated, and hurried out.

Road repairs, women's rights, the price of grains. Obi Wan, his hair lengthened since his Padawan days, in bed with their son. She had kissed that hair and could hardly believe her own daring. Road repairs, women's rights… Something about grains?

Obi Wan was more tired than he'd realised. It was bright enough for mid-morning by the time the bedroom door swung open and the gentle laughter of disbelief met his ears.

If that were not enough to wake him, Korkie tugged insistently on his father's hair.

"Doctor Sewlen is here!"

Obi Wan managed to bring himself halfway upright and pulled Korkie into his lap. Together, they faced the young woman smiling at the doorway.

"I'm Obi Wan, I'm-"

"Korkie's father," the doctor finished with amusement. "Satine was rushing about this morning, I think she forgot to tell me you'd be here. But it's lovely to meet you at last."

She came to kneel at the bedside.

"Good morning, young Korkaran. How did you sleep?"

"Buir Dada came to sleep," Korkie informed her.

"Indeed he did," Sewlen acknowledged, before lifting her gaze to Obi Wan. "His breathing looks good."

"He was coughing a little, but yes."

Sewlen nodded as she busied herself examining Korkie at his wrists and chest.

"Looking good, ad'ik. I think we can take this one out."

Korkie frowned as the doctor indicated to his chest tube.

"I want T9," he demanded.

Sewlen snorted.

"You don't need T9 today, ad'ik, because you are too well."

"I want picture! Picture for Buir Dada!"

"You do not need a picture today, Korkaran," Sewlen intoned with gentle authority. "But I have a picture here for Buir."

She rummaged through her bag and produced a film.

"Korkie's chest radiograph from yesterday. He really doesn't need another today. You can see that the inflammation is quite localised now."

Korkie quietened, contented, as Obi Wan held the film before them.

"Korkie lungs," he told his father happily.

"Indeed. And this?"

"Korkie heart."

"Your wonderful, strong heart. And these?"

"Korkie bones."

"Goodness, you're clever. These are your wonderful, strong bones."

Korkie gnawed at a fistful of his father's undershirt and hummed his contentment.

"I'm afraid the visit is about to come a lot less fun," Sewlen informed Obi Wan in an undertone. "I'll take the tube out. It needs a bit of local anaesthetic in a needle…"

"Needle?" Korkie asked, a jolt of terror rippling through the Force.

"I'll stay right with you, Korkie," Obi Wan soothed, placing a hand on his son's chest. "It won't be frightening."

Sewlen raised a silent brow of scepticism.

"We will find peace in the Force, dear one. Breathe with me."

There was something so natural about the bond that formed between them, the way their presences in the Force intertwined. Korkie relaxed against his father, closing his eyes. Obi Wan kept half an eye on Sewlen as she readied her equipment, soaking a wad of gauze in pink antiseptic.

"Just cleaning first, Korkie dear."

Korkie's brief flinch was but a ripple in the calm pool of his Force presence. Sewlen couldn't help but show her surprise.

"Hands over his head and arms," she murmured, as she drew up a needle of local anaesthetic. "This is the painful bit."

"Breathe steadily in the Force, Korkie…"

A needle-prick, the blebbing of anaesthetic under the skin. Korkie grimaced with the pain and Obi Wan pressed some gentle Force persuasion upon him. Calm once more. The tube was withdrawn and a single suture tied neatly to close the hole, then a dressing smoothly applied over Korkie's pink-stained skin.

"You Jedi are unbelievable," Sewlen muttered, discarding her gloves. "That's better than any sedative I've got in that bag."

Obi Wan smiled gently as he stroked his son's hair.

"He is beautifully bright in the Force," he acknowledged.

"He's a beautiful boy," Sewlen agreed, unpacking a syringe of medicine from her case. "He needs two mils of this four times today. Otherwise, all he needs now is rest."

"Book!" Korkie suggested pertly.

"A book or ten is a good idea, ad'ik," Sewlen agreed, as she packed up her case. "Korkie's books are on that shelf over there, Buir."

Obi Wan took Sewlen's parting advice with a grateful nod; Satine's quarters boasted several bookshelves and hundreds of books. Korkie in his arms, he walked over to examine Korkie's shelf.

Little Warrior Needs No Sword.

Baby Shatual's Goodnight Song.

Ve'Vut'Galaar and the Nest in the Clouds.

Classical Mando Folklore: Volume I.

"Family book!" Korkie requested.

"Family book?"

None of the titles seemed to fit. Obi Wan hoped that Korkie's favourite story was not concealed somewhere within the enormous Classical Mando Folklore volumes one through to eight.

"This one, my bright star? With Baby and Mama shatual?"

"Family book!"

Korkie gave an irritable toss of his head and a book with an unmarked spine jerked from the bookshelf. Obi Wan caught it deftly.

"Family book," Korkie sighed happily.

Obi Wan brought his son and the bulky book back to the bed. Korkie summoned his bottle from the bedside table – Obi Wan would really have to teach him sometime about superfluous use of the Force – and settled into Obi Wan's lap.

Printed in Satine's handwriting on a piece of card affixed to the book's deep blue cover: The Clan Kryze.

Family book.

Obi Wan opened to the first page and realised that his ability to read Mando'a would not yet be tested. This was a photograph album. The only words were Satine's carefully printed dates and brief captions.

Sundari, mid-winter, 3606 ATC. Bo-Katan Kryze arrives from Kalevala to Mandalore for the first time.

In the photograph, the below-mentioned Bo-Katan Kryze was an infant swaddled in rich furs, held in her mother's arms. The Duke Adonai stood proud and tall, his hand resting on his eldest daughter's shoulder. Satine was six years old, already tall and unsmiling, unwittingly mimicking her father's posture.

"Tell story, Buir!"

Obi Wan wouldn't be able to explain it as Satine would. But he had little choice but to try.

"In this photograph there is your Ba'buir Adonai, and your Ba'buir Martise…"

Korkie pointed knowledgably at each face.

"And the little baby in her arms is your Ba'vodu Bo-Katan, and this is Buir Mama here, in her purple coat. And the wall behind them is of this very palace that we sit in, Korkie-ad. It was a very cold winter's day, and baby Bo-Katan was coming to the palace in Sundari for the very first time."

Korkie seemed pleased by his narrative. Obi Wan turned the page and was suddenly lost for words. Four faces in two photos gazed back at him, none of them calling themselves Kryze.

"This is a photograph of… of me."

Obi Wan swallowed against rising emotion in his throat.

"This is a photograph of me when I was young," he managed. "Thirteen years old. On a camping trip, making the fire to cook dinner."

How had Satine found the photograph? With Anakin's assistance, most likely. This was a replica of the photograph Obi Wan kept on the kitchen bench in their shared quarters.

"This is Jedi Master Qui Gon Jinn, who taught me how to be a Jedi. He's chopping the vegetables for dinner. After a long walk in the forest."

"Ba'buir Qui Gon," Korkie contributed.

Obi Wan squeezed Korkie's thigh affectionately but could not find words. He had never once imagined, in all these months spent apart, that Satine would teach her son to call a Jedi grandfather.

"Vod Ani!"

Obi Wan recognised the next photograph from Anakin's bedside; outside their hut on Tatooine, Anakin hugged his mother tightly around the waist.

"Ba'vodu Shmi."

"That's right, Korkie."

Impatient with his father's mostly silent appreciation of the photographs, Korkie turned the page.

"Revolution," he articulated knowledgeably.

Of course, Satine would have ensured that her two-year-old had 'revolution' in his vocabulary.

"That's right, Korkie. This is me with Buir Mama near Enceri during the revolution. The day after…"

The day after Enceri was destroyed by firebombs. Obi Wan wondered why Satine had chosen this photograph – most likely, she simply did not have many from this time. It must have been taken by their friend Husharn, who had used his camera tech principally for propaganda broadcasts but seemingly also to capture more personal moments on occasion. In this photograph, Obi Wan and Satine sat on the ground, chunks of stale bread and cheese – a generous lunch by revolution standards – in their hands. Their faces were sunken and creased with worry. The previous day they had slept with each other for the first time in a fit of desperate grief and they had not, yet, come to terms with what they felt for each other.

"After a sad day," Obi Wan informed his son.

And beyond the sadness Obi Wan felt a sort of nostalgia for the time in his life in which he had been unable to articulate what he felt for Satine. When he had loved her with all his heart and it had caused him nothing but pain. For now he sat with their son in his lap and he had told her, last night, with a strength he had not felt for so many months or perhaps years now, that he would never again pretend to himself that he did not love her.

"It was a sad day, but we kept looking after each other, your Buir Mama and I. And all our friends," he added, indicating at the next photograph, in which their band of revolutionaries smiled at the camera in the back of the ancient land-cruiser in which they had traversed Mandalore's northern continent. "Together we all looked after each other."

Korkie pointed a chubby finger at each face in turn.

"Buir Mama, Buir Dada, Raf, Husharn, Asha, Kal, Ba'vodu Mamella."

"Ba'vodu Mariella," Obi Wan corrected, with a smile.

The next photograph might have been taken by Husharn or by any of the thousands in the crowd that had witnessed Satine's daring surrender of herself to Old Guard forces in Keldabe near revolution's end. Satine was as beautiful and fierce as Obi Wan had ever seen her; she arched an eyebrow in antagonism at the guard who dared to touch her, her mouth open to deliver a scathing reprimand.

"This was the day that Buir Mama was the bravest Mando'ad history has known."

That was the day you were conceived, Korkie-ad.

"She walked right into the house of her enemy."

"Buir Dada too," Korkie contributed, pointing to Obi Wan at her side, fending off the frenzied crowd.

"I helped a little," Obi Wan conceded with a chuckle, turning the page.

And the words were shocked out of him again.

On the fourth day of spring, 3621 ATC, Korkaran is born. Photographs taken by T9, medical assistant droid – courtesy of the automated 'adverse outcome documentation' feature.

Satine had told him of placental abruption, a bleed in the womb. He had seen the scar of the laparotomy. He had heard of Sewlen's heroics. But he had not, despite the puzzle pieces, appreciated the reality of it.

I should have been there. I should have been there. I should have been there.

"Here is baby Korkaran," Obi Wan commented levelly, pointing to the blood-stained baby in the blood-stained towel. "Lying on Buir Mama's chest."

Korkie looked on with the fascination that young children reserve purely for themselves.

"You were born very early and very small, Korkie-ad. You gave everyone a big fright. Buir Mama was very sick."

An oxygen mask on Satine's face and lines in her arms. Bo-Katan Kryze, in the next photograph, connected to her sister by a transfuser circuit.

I should have been there.

"Ba'vodu Bo-Katan and Doctor Sewlen saved the day," Obi Wan summarised with effortful cheer, addressing the frown of concern on his son's face. "And Korkie-ad grew from very tiny-"

He pointed illustratively at the photograph of Korkie that Satine had captioned: Korkaran's first weight. The number on the scales read 521g.

"-to big and strong."

He gave Korkie's chest a comforting pat – consoling himself more than his child.

"You are a miracle, little one."

Korkie beamed with the compliment.

And on they went, through Korkaran sleeps outside the incubator for the first time and Doctor Sewlen Jerac tests Korkaran's vision (perfect!) to Korkaran is presented atop the western balcony of the Sundari Palace and Korkaran meets his Ba'vodu Mariella. So much that he had missed. Obi Wan appeared fleetingly among these images in his various visits to Mandalore: Obi Wan's ship enters the Sundari atmosphere, Korkaran shows Obi Wan his clapping for the first time, Anakin and Korkaran play with toy ships.

"Buir Dada shoe!" Korkie identified in the corner of the photograph.

Father and child were so engrossed in the pictures, with Korkie making chirping contributions of names and Obi Wan elaborating upon the stories, that Obi Wan did not notice Satine's approaching presence until she opened the door and entered the bedroom, a tray of lunch in hand.

"You found the Family Book," she observed, with a faintly apprehensive smile.

"It's…"

Obi Wan shook his head in disbelief.

"Very special, Satine," he managed. "Thank you. To see Master Qui Gon and Anakin in the same place as-"

Satine set aside their lunch tray and came to sit beside him on the bed, laying a hand on Korkie's thigh.

"He is as much yours as he is mine," she murmured. "And your ancestry as important as mine. I know that I've kept him from the Temple, and I still believe that was right, but… I want him to know all of his story. All of his family."

Obi Wan brought his hand atop hers and squeezed it. It still seemed a miracle to be this close to her, touching at the thigh and hip and shoulder.

"I'll make an effort to take more photographs of you," she resolved. "It's silly, but I didn't want you to know…"

Her smile was embarrassed and still stunningly beautiful.

"I didn't want you to think that I was still…"

Obi Wan laid a gentle hand on her hair and brought her face slowly to his.

Her voice trailed off and Obi Wan could not quite place the look on her face. The Force nudged him forwards.

He kissed her and he was home. She tasted as sweet as she ever had.

"I was missing you too, Satine."

Satine laughed and shook her head.

"We were so stubborn."

"Naturally."

As though to prove that stubbornness ran deep in their genes, Korkie smacked at the book in his lap with his open palms.

"Read Family Book!" he demanded. "Buir are being boring!"

Awwwwww. I hope we are all feeling the love.

Do they have printed photographs on Mandalore? Surely. I refuse to believe that people would be satisfied looking at digital images all the time. Nothing beats a photo album (especially this photo album). All scenes from the pre-Korkie days can be found in The Last of the Clan Kryze.

Next chapter, we'll have a little more family time - because Obi Wan and Satine have been rather restrained thus far, no? - and then I promise we'll get back on track.

I need some advice, actually, about advancing this story forward. I've planned a lot for during the years of the Clone Wars but little in between (it would be a mega-sized story if we covered another decade in depth). I was thinking that I'd like to keep everything together in one story rather than two, and was thinking of including a sort of bridging chapter, perhaps using little one-shots of birthdays through the years. Any thoughts or feelings about that proposition? Do we think the next phase of this story needs to be a sequel, or can I keep it all together?

Thanks so much for your beautiful reviews. You are all stars and you've inspired me to do lots of writing this week.

xx - S.