A/N: As for where Ezra was during his years apart from Sabine, I have no idea, and I don't intend to insult us all by conjecturing. So…let's just suspend disbelief and have some fluff, mkay? Mkay. (Btw—y'all's response to this fic has made my heart melt.)


Know

Sabine thought a lot about what Hera had said.

Say it often. Say it loudly. Make it clear.

She thought a lot about how to do that for Ezra, how to tell him she loved him. She'd told him she loved him, of course, but she knew there was more to it than that. Mandalorians were an action-oriented people; Sabine felt the words were hollow if not accompanied by gestures of some kind. She didn't yet understand that Ezra's love for her was and always had been unconditional.

For about a week after they came back from Hera's, Sabine was almost nervous around Ezra. Which was awful. There was nothing she enjoyed less than kissing him and then suddenly being overcome by the thought, You're not enough. That's not enough. Every time she told him—in Mando'a, because it sounded so strange and cold in Basic—that she loved him, she felt this gnawing fear inside. That's not convincing, the fear said. He could leave you if he's unsure.

She thought of something Ketsu had said once, too, a jaded generalization: Men understand affection in one way, Sabine: physical.

Kriff Ketsu for ever bringing that up—as if she had ever needed more of a reason to be leery of anyone who'd tried to flirt with her. Her fourteen-year-old self had balked at the statement, but now Sabine wondered if maybe there was some truth to it.

It certainly seemed that Hera had found…other ways of showing Kanan her affection even if she hadn't been able to say the words.

Sabine felt so unsure—she wanted Ezra to know beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt that she loved him, that she was committed to being here with him. But the idea of…that made her stomach knot up—and not in a good way. She couldn't imagine going to bed with him when being so free with physical touch at all—holding his hand, sleeping next to him, kissing him—was still so foreign to her. (And when it was still something she needed just to stay grounded and calm and sure that this was real.)

But a few times lately, she'd turned around to find Ezra watching her with something in his eyes—something she could only describe as want. She'd felt his mouth linger on hers and his hands touch her more tenderly than before. Never pushing—but, say, carefully exploring what the bare skin of her waist felt like beneath his fingertips. Things like that—which she hadn't minded until she considered that maybe he…wanted more.

With her heart in her throat and her fists clenched at her sides, she decided to give it to him. So there'd be no misunderstanding how she felt.


Sabine had seemed tense the last few days—not so much that he was concerned about her wanting to run from him, but enough that he was beginning to feel frustrated with himself for not being able to figure out what was bothering her. He hadn't been so good at that when they'd been living together day in and day out for years; it was infinitely harder now. He knew that the surest way to spook her would be to straight up ask her what was wrong, so whenever she was close, he held her for maybe just a little longer than he needed to. Just to let her know he was there. Kriff, he loved that woman and he wasn't about to let her get away now. He decided patience was his best bet.

And then, one night, he decided maybe it would have been better to talk to her after all.

He'd been just about half asleep when Sabine came to bed, sweet-smelling and shower-warm. She settled in beside him, as per usual, and then she turned her body toward his, swinging her leg over his hip—

Not as per usual.

Ezra was immediately and fully awake. "What—"

"Shh," she said. She pushed his shoulder and he turned over on his back, staring at her in dumbfounded curiosity. She leaned over him, softly kissing his neck, his jaw, the twin scars on his cheek. He couldn't help the satisfied sound that scraped the back of his throat when he felt her hands drift over his chest, and he settled his own hands on her hips. He sat up a bit, meeting her mouth with his, and she kissed him senseless—but it was wrong.

She was wrong.

Ezra wasn't quite sure what Sabine was trying to start, but he was pretty sure that anxiety was out of place here. And when he got past how intoxicating it was to have her like this, that's all he found—anxiety. Her entire being thrummed with it, both physically and in the Force. He closed his hands around her wrists and he opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but she worked free of his grasp and her fingertips brushed the tops of his thighs and his voice all but dried up.

"Listen, listen, listen," he managed. His voice was ragged and the words rushed. She froze. "What is up?"

She inhaled sharply and her eyes were guarded; she looked like he may as well have slapped her, because maybe that would have hurt less. She shifted, sitting on the bed beside him; no part of their bodies touching now. "Don't you—want—" She faltered for too many seconds before she finished the sentence with a very small and uncertain, "me?"

Ezra thought his eyes were going to bug out of his head. "Sabine." His tone was incredulous. "I don't—I have you. Right here." He gestured between them. Then his face flushed. "I mean, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about—but not like this. Not when you're scared."

Her brows drew together and she dropped her gaze even as she lifted her chin. "What makes you think I'm scared?"

"The fact that you're literally trembling is a pretty good tip-off." He touched her knee lightly. "What's wrong?"

"I love you," she blurted, biting her lip.

"I know." Ezra shook his head, bewildered by how very bizarre a turn his night had taken.

"Are you sure?" There it was—that anxiety he'd sensed from her. He was horrified; had he said or done something to demand this kind of advance from her?

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said softly. He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand and she let him. "You made that pretty clear when you came looking for me. And when you told me you love me—every single time. Sabine." He dipped his head, searching for her eyes. "Your word is all I need."

She looked taken aback and relieved and close to tears. "I'm not good at this."

By this, he could only assume she meant emotional and physical vulnerability.

"I know," he said again. "I know exactly who you are."

She crawled back over to him, unfolding and unwinding in his embrace as she so often did. "I want to," she said, "but not yet. Not for a while."

"Me either." He was just as surprised as her to realize he really meant it. "I like this. We need to get used to this first."

She nodded, her chin nudging his chest, and she fell still after that. Ezra was left to wonder whether he'd ever truly know Sabine Wren, or whether he'd constantly be finding another piece of armor to peel off her. He was committed either way, but he hoped that, over time, the scars on both their hearts would heal; they were discovering more every day just how the last five years had taken a toll.

"We have to be honest with each other," she said quietly, as if she was reading his mind. Her words were tinged with guilt.

"Yeah, we do."

"So…honestly?" She paused, sighing. "What now?"

He didn't have to ask what she meant. They'd known each other for just over nine years now. Four of those had been spent on the Ghost, fighting the Empire. The other five had been spent still fighting the Empire, but in two very different ways, and a galaxy apart from one another. Then she'd found him. They'd had a few days together. They'd gone to see Hera. They'd come home.

In nine years, there had never been a quiet moment.

And now that it was just the two of them, here on Lothal to stay, there seemed to be an infinite number of quiet moments stretching in front of them. They didn't know what to do. They didn't know how to lead a normal life.

"I guess…" Ezra began after a moment's reflection. "I don't know—what do couples do?"

"Couples," she echoed.

Even after everything they'd just talked about, he still felt a surge of panic at the imagined note of uncertainty he'd heard in her voice. "Well, yeah, I mean—"

"We're a couple," she said. This time, there was no uncertainty either real or imagined. He could tell she was grinning. "It's mundane. I like it." She tipped her head back, peering up at him. "I want to do mundane things with you."

He grinned right back. "Yeah. That sounds good."

She yawned and stretched, pulling away so she could roll over and assume a more comfortable position for sleeping. "And we can start tomorrow by pulling all of my paint and gear out and thoroughly organizing it. Been meaning to do that."

"And you waited for me to come back before you decided to do it." He made a disgusted noise, but it was insincere. "I hate you," he said.

Her laugh answered him in the darkness. "I know, love."