Rebels, Rogues, Heroes...
Ezra couldn't take his eyes off his wife. She was a force of nature, savvy and a miracle to behold. She wasn't Jedi, but as she took out the flying stormtroopers fitted with jetpacks, which he wanted very much, by the way, the love he already felt for her swelled to higher, ever deeper proportions. Even though he repeated to himself many times that she was his, he still couldn't quite believe it. Everything Sabine did defied categorization. He was relieved when the firefight was over, and she was back with him safely, once more.
Praise gushed from him, no stopping it. Had he ever seen her wage war like that before, singlehandedly like a one-woman task force?
"Sabine, how did you learn to fight like that? I mean, I know you're a great warrior, but what you just did was spectacular."
Although this wasn't the first time he was wild about what she was capable of pulling off, she blushed. "Hey, Ez, I'm Mandalorian. All in a day's work. Hera was freaking out behind the controls, so I jumped in because there was no other way for getting the Ghost out of that cavern in one piece."
Ezra knew she was absolutely right about that, but when he first saw her fly off to join the fray, his first impulse had been to shout for her to come back. What she'd been about to do was too dangerous.
Sabine shook her head, reading his thoughts. He'd never stop worrying about her, and likewise, she'd always feel her heart climb into her throat whenever he put himself in the thick of unimaginable peril.
"I worry about you too, you know," she said.
Ezra nodded. "I know. We have no other choice. It's what married people do, especially married people like us, who might die the next time we're in the wrong place, at the wrong time, or our intel is wrong, or we're betrayed."
The words, and the hard truth of that, gave them pause. Why were some people born on a bed of nails, while others on feather pillows? What was the point of a life filled with so much worry and suffering? All at once, the couple felt mutually helpless, always struggling to find good where so much evil existed.
Sabine sighed, wiping a few tears off her cheek. Ezra felt everything she did deeply. "It won't always be like this," Ezra said in a choked voice.
His wife glanced at him, not saying a thing for several moments. As she walked up to him, throwing her arms around his neck, she cuddled close. "We live what we know, and what we know is that we have to make a difference in this growing Rebellion. And it is growing, Ez. Day by day it grows stronger, more resourceful. Winning, because we must, leads us as the Force guides us."
"Do you really think we're making a difference, Sab?" he murmured, holding her snugly in his arms.
She held Ezra tighter; willing what she knew was true into him.
The knowing voice came from behind them. It reached them like water lapping on a shore. The couple eased around to see Kanan leaning against the wall.
"Sorry to eavesdrop," he softly apologized. "We, and everyone who lives, breathes and believes in freedom are making all the difference in the galaxy." He looked back and forth between the two of them. They were so young, and the love they felt for each other clung to them like an aura. "I ask just one thing of you both, and then I'll disappear, I promise."
"What's-" they said in unison, cut off by a smiling Kanan.
"It's easier said than done, but I'll ask it anyway. Stop worrying so much. Enjoy what you have now. Don't allow yourselves to get all caught up in the uncertainties of what tomorrow may bring. Life's too short, and for us it has the distinct possibility of being even shorter."
His young listeners soaked his advice up like sponges, which he plainly saw.
Gently, he tacked on, "Just try. As I said, easier said than done, but try as hard as you can to put worry, fear, doubt out of your minds. Embrace the present and all it offers. Has my being blind stopped me from continuing the fight?"
The answer was obvious, of course.
They studied the visor obscuring Spectre One's sightless eyes, letting his words sink in. They nodded in unison, promising the wise, meditative, protective Jedi master that they'd heed his sage advice. Ezra knew better than to tell him that they'd try, because just trying didn't cut it.
Do, or do not seemed to float soundlessly in the air.
Once Kanan had left them by themselves, Ezra leaned down and kissed Sabine's forehead. "We'll do what he says because, deep down, we both know it will work."
Against his lips pressed into her forehead, Sabine nodded.
And then Ezra quipped, "And I still want a jetpack."
"If you're good, and promise not to kid around so much when I'm painting, I just might...find one for you on our next Imperial supply raid," Sabine said, grinning.
"I'll help you swipe as many as we can get our hands on," Ezra agreed.
"And I'll have your back."
"You know I've got yours," Ezra told her, wrapping her up in his arms even tighter this time, twirling strands of her white purple ombre hair around his fingers.
Oaths, blood, family, bound up in the will of the Force...sang like a hymn in their heads.