Note 1: Counting chapters is hard, you guys… So chapter 3 was meant to be the final chapter, but it got a bit out of hand during revision (Sabine and Kanan would just not. Stop. Talking! Hera, fortunately, was a bit more concise) and that's how we ended up with chapter 4, to be posted on, I think, Saturday. (Unless another character decides to join in on the conversation!)
Note 2: I don't know about anyone else, but my brain is in major OMG mode after finally getting to see the Season 3 finale and Season 4 teaser. Especially just having written 14.000-ish words of space family angst. I love it but I hate it but I love it.
The Physics of Glitter 3/4
The mood isn't great when the Spectres eventually regroup at the Ghost's landing pit. But since they all managed to walk away from the aborted mission without attracting any more Imperial attention, it isn't terrible, either. Over an improvised dinner of meal bars and Jogan-flavoured tea, the others are already joking about how at least the glitterbombs hadn't been a complete waste. Because the locals had looked like they needed cheering up, right?
Sabine is a bit wary. At this point, Ketsu would have already found twelve different ways to shift the blame for this mess away from herself, and would start plotting for elaborate revenge right about now. She certainly wouldn't have sat down to dinner like a normal person.
After dinner, Hera and Kanan hole up in the lobby, poring over datapads and charts and local maps and a growing flock of empty coffee cups. Planning the next op? They are talking in low voices, wearing their serious expressions, so everyone else tries to stay out of their way.
Zeb catches some holonet programme in his room. Chopper, too, connects to the holonet, taking advantage of a rare quiet evening to update his databases with everything he finds useful, from starship blueprints to bad jokes.
All of this is so completely normal. Routine. It's disquieting to Sabine, who has snuck up to hide on top of the Ghost with vague plans to stare miserably into the sunset for a while.
That has been a couple of hours ago, and the sunset is in full blast now. The sounds from Zeb's programme – laser shots, canned laughter – have stopped, and now all she can her is muffled voices from the ship below, air traffic from the sky above. But even the traffic over Lothal spaceport has thinned down. All that's left for tonight is departures – planetary ferries and large interstellar passenger skiffs that circle airspace in a complex loop pattern before vanishing into the indigo sky.
It's hard to imagine being on board one of these, strapped into a seat in aisle row, no view of the stars, just her and eight hundred smelly strangers. She supposes she'll have to get used to the thought before long.
There's a knock. There's no door, but there's a knock. What strange people she has acquired!
Sabine looks up and of course it's Kanan. Well, she's been expecting this. She'd just hoped that maybe he'd give her one more day before sending her packing.
"Sabine," says Kanan. "I think we need to talk."
"Says who?"
"Says I. And Hera," says Kanan. "And Zeb. And Chop. They sent me up because they say I'm the most persuasive."
"I can take the next passenger flight off Lothal," says Sabine. "It's okay." She'll miss the Spectres, but it's okay. She's been lonely before. Even she can see there's no going back now.
Kanan fixes her with a very strange sort of glare, then settles down next to her. "Now, whatever gave you that idea?" he asks.
As if he doesn't know.
The mental script Sabine has been working in the past two hours has not prepared her for outright denial. She pauses, before asking, "That isn't why you came up here?"
"Sabine," says Kanan. "You saved us from a lot of trouble today."
"I suppose – you're welcome?" she says carefully.
"Don't let it get to your head, kid. I could have done without the bruises," he says, before clearing his voice. "We want to invite you to be part of the crew."
"Hm," she says. So maybe he hasn't noticed I noticed? she ponders. That should solve all her problems in the present, but, admittedly, has the potential to explode on her in the future.
"Really?" she says carefully.
"Yes," he says. "But –"
"That's more like it," says Sabine.
"We should get clear on a few issues," says Kanan. "Make sure we can all trust each other. This team depends on each other in all sorts of serious situations, and we all need to know what we are getting into, okay?" He leans back on his hands. "Think of it as a job interview. Only without the lying." He grins.
"Okay," says Sabine. "I also have a couple things that need, you know. Clearing up."
Kanan shrugs. "That's just to be expected." Is it just her, or is he employing his Sabacc face again?
"Well then," says Sabine. "Ask away."
"Okay," says Kanan. "Probably the most important question. Are you comfortable being part of this?"
He, for one, looks very comfortable being part of this, she thinks. Lounging back, his long legs are dangling over the edge of the deck. Sabine herself feels tenser than ever. Don't mess this one up, too, Wren.
"Why are you asking?"
"Well, you do seem to spend an awful lot of your time on your own," Kanan points out. "And that's okay if that's your style. But if there's anything, or anyone, you're avoiding, then obviously that's not good –"
"Nothing in particular, no," says Sabine. He's really asking the difficult questions first, isn't he?
"Then what is it?"
"Look," says Sabine. "I really just prefer keeping my distance, okay? I told you, I was working with my best friend and it didn't work out."
"Were you?" asks Kanan, and he sounds innocent, but Sabine knows exactly where he is planning to go with that, and he does. "And where was your friend when we found you drifting in space over Corellia?"
She has never really talked about that part, and now she wonders how the Ghost crew has just taken this in stride.
"She completed the mission, okay?" says Sabine. "Someone had to, and I wasn't going anywhere."
She hesitates before continuing, but really, where's the harm? "Ketsu knew my fighter had a critical hit," she says. "She saw everything."
It isn't until she is saying this out loud that Sabine realises how bitter she is, how disappointed. How devastated that this is how the best friendship she ever had ended. Before now, she has tried not believing this herself. Has tried convincing herself Ketsu made a mistake, or hadn't known. Anything but this.
There is some silence after this.
"And you think you can protect yourself against betrayal by not making friends?" says Kanan.
Sabine can't believe he's saying that. "You can't protect yourself against betrayal," she says.
"No," says Kanan. Does it sound like he knows from experience? "But you can pick better friends and hope for the best," he adds.
Well, that just sounds dismissive.
"Betrayal hurts more when you're friends," says Sabine. "I'm tired of hurting."
Kanan has a very odd expression on his face, but then he shakes his head and it's gone. "That's not how we operate," he says. "When you're part of the team, we're not leaving you behind. Do you believe me?"
"What if there's a greater good?" she asks.
"This is the greater good," says Kanan. "It's the beauty of an independent operation – no-one to answer to but us. Sounds okay?"
And maybe the reason they're not part of the rebellion? Sabine wonders.
"Sounds a bit unrealistic," she says. "But I like the attitude behind it."
Kanan nods, possibly in understanding of the point she is trying to make. "Anyway," he says. "No pressure to decide right away. We're not leaving Lothal until next week, the repulsors need fixing. So get a couple runs in, think about all this. The pay isn't great, you know, and sometimes it's Zeb's turn to cook. Just so you're warned."
Frankly, it sounds like the complete opposite of what Sabine, up until last month, has thought was her masterplan for her future, so she ponders that for a bit.
"Is that it?" Sabine asks finally. "Because if it is, I still have a couple of –"
"When you say you're a weapons expert," Kanan interrupts her casually, incidentally inching closer to what she was going to address, "where exactly did you –"
"The Imperial Academy of Mandalore," says Sabine. She's been expecting this for a while. "I was in the fast track programme, three and a half years. I developed a lot of really –" she hesitates – "effective stuff. I know my shit. Way beyond the physics of glitter."
"Yeah, we noticed you're pretty good," says Kanan off-handedly. "Three and a half years at an Imperial Academy, huh?"
There is silence.
"I believed in the Empire," she says eventually. "I don't anymore."
"What made you believe in them?"
"Okay, Kanan, this is the most nerve-racking job interview ever," says Sabine. "How about we were kids and they told us a bunch of lies. About how we were the elite, how everyone else was inferior. About how the Empire only could restore stability and grandeur to Mandalore. They lied and lied, and we ate that shit up. Mandalore had just come out of a decade-long civil war, remember?"
"Okay then, sounds pretty inescapable," says Kanan. "What made you stop believing?"
Sabine hesitates. But does not want to touch this, not even if it costs her the greatest opportunity of her life. There's so much pain and guilt wrapped up with this, she doesn't know if she's ever going to face it willingly again.
"I don't want to talk about this," she says.
"Don't you think it's important?" says Kanan.
"Important?" The worst thing about this, Sabine thinks, is that she knows exactly how Kanan is doing this, and yet she's going along with it anyway. Because yes, it's important. In some ways, she even agrees that the Spectres probably need to know the answer before taking her in. Still, this is infuriating.
"I designed weapons. What do you think happened?" She realises she sounds more aggressive than she meant to. Again.
Maybe she is just really, really bad at talking to this man in particular.
"It's okay, Sabine," says Kanan. "The Empire rarely brings out the best in anyone. And you were a kid. You are a kid."
"Don't patronise me," she says. "I designed weapons for the Empire. What did you do at fourteen, take your parents' landglider for a joyride?"
His expression is unreadable, so she guesses it was probably the wrong thing to say.
Which, in a way, is evidence.
"It's not a competition," he says after a moment. "We all bring different histories. The important thing is that we can trust each other now."
"Yeah, about that," says Sabine numbly. "Was there anything else, or – ?"
"Actually, there was," says Kanan, scratching his head, but somehow still giving the impression he's glad to change the topic.
"Hera told me to bring it up," he says, "but I suppose if she wants this talked about, she can come to you herself. Anyway, I'm not seeing it."
Baited thusly, of course Sabine can't resist. "What is it?" she says, before her brain can stop her mouth. Hera is extremely perceptive. Kanan, right now, is extremely, almost comically, uncomfortable. These two facts together can only mean one thing –
Oh shit.
She'd better go packing.
"Well, Hera said," begins Kanan. "Well, she said that she might be wrong, and between us, she probably is, but she got the impression that you, ah, might have taken what she called, quote unquote, a shine, and yes, that's her words, on a member of the crew, who appears to be, well, me. And she told me to go handle it like an adult."
He scratches his head. "So here I am," he says. "I brought it up. She's wrong. Let's now all go our merry ways, shall we? We're playing Sabacc downstairs, want to come?"
Throughout this, Sabine has thought it tactically wise to remain extremely silent. One side glance reveals that this is the wrong tactic.
"Oh god," says Kanan. "Really?"
Sabine groans. "It's complicated," she says. And it is, especially after today. "I'll just take that passenger skiff off Lothal, shall I."
Kanan clears his throat. "There's no need for that," he says.
"I would think the mutual ear-burning embarrassment would be reason enough to leave the planet," says Sabine. "Right about now sounds good."
"No," says Kanan. "Not because of that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so flippant when I brought this up." He perks up a bit. "You know, when I was sixteen –"
"Oh god. Don't."
He laughs. "You can walk away any time, but I truly think you need to hear this story," he says.
"Are you going to tell me about that one time you wrote a love letter to your teacher?" says Sabine. "Because that's the one thing that will make this situation so much more awkward."
"So I was sharing an apartment with a woman on some tiny little moon in the back of beyond," Kanan continues without acknowledging her concerns. "We were both working for the same mining company. Merrywater, Inc. She was about forty, drop-dead gorgeous, a foot taller than me, could run for miles carrying a hundredweight of ore on her back. Of course I had the galaxy's biggest and most embarrassing crush on her. Only I didn't think of it as such. I was in love."
"I said it was complicated," says Sabine through clenched teeth.
"Just go along with the story," says Kanan. "I promise, it's hilarious. At least, it is now."
She notices he is staring wistfully into the sunset. "So here's sixteen-year-old Kanan Jarrus," he continues, "scrawny git, usually covered in soot, usually collapsed on the couch after each shift. Over there is Yulinda, the amazon of Merrywater, Inc., drinks me under the table without breaking a sweat, brings home a different person or three every weekend, and I was happily resigned to the delusion that she was going to run out of alternatives eventually. So I flirted. Subtly."
He scratches his head in reminiscence. "Or what went for subtle in a household like this," he adds. "You usually had to work past at least three layers of hangover on both sides of the conversation."
Despite herself, Sabine is intrigued. "What happened?"
"When she could no longer gracefully ignore my advances – and Yulinda had very little patience in the first place," he says, "she sat me down and told me, in so many words, Go hit on someone your own age, you little tit. I can still hear it in my head, clear as day. It was quite traumatising."
"And?"
"And she commenced to open a bottle of cider with her teeth and watch her cheesy holonet program. Life, Love, and Etiquette at the Royal Court of Naboo, I think it was called."
"I meant you!"
"Me?" says Kanan. "Oh, it was the most helpful romantic advice I received in my formative years, and naturally, I was crushed. I was so crushed I left the planet! Bit of an overreaction, don't you think? And just a shame in general, I could have learned so much more, just watching from the sidelines."
He shakes his head. "I don't know where I was going with this. Okay, that's a lie. The message is pretty sound, even if Yulinda's delivery was lacking. I suggest you take it to heart."
"Really," says Sabine incredulously. "That's your message. Go hit on someone your own age, you little t–"
"You're right," interrupts Kanan, and then, after some deliberation, "it probably needs some expanding. And she needn't have called me little, I was still waiting for my growth spurt."
He seems to draw himself together, and it is unclear whether this is an act or whether this is him ending an act. In any case, the shift is quite impressive.
"Sabine," he says, "to choose some different words, obviously I'm flattered, and obviously I am going to respectfully decline."
Oh god, she thinks, for the umpteenth time in this conversation. This is him letting her down gently. Being nice about it.
"Oh god," she says thusly. "I've reconsidered. I'm fine with the original message. The less said about this, the better."
"No, Sabine," says Kanan with a sigh. "Let's talk about emotions."
"Are you trying to be a git so I'll hate you? Because it's working. Case closed."
At this point, Sabine is almost laughing with the absurdity of it, and Kanan is, too. "No, I'm trying to make an important point," he says. "Just you wait for it. Because I don't think pretending emotions don't exist is going to get anyone anywhere, especially since we're going to be a team."
"No, seriously, will you shut up."
"Emotions are very important, Sabine," he says patiently.
"Well, you're obviously not going to shut up," Sabine says, with a sigh, "so by all means, carry on, so I can get to my flight in time."
She feels a bit defeated, but also oddly intrigued. Exactly what does Kanan Jarrus have to say about the topic? It almost beats missing the chance to take this to her grave.
"There is no point in repressing emotions," says Kanan after a long pause. "Trust me, they turn… weird… under pressure. Instead, use them for what they are: A source of information. They tell you something about yourself. If you don't like what they're telling you about yourself, you can work on that. You can evolve."
Another pause.
"Sometimes, that means just growing up," he adds.
"So what does this tell me about myself?" says Sabine in a low voice. "What, except, hey, teenage girl falls for the tall, dark hero who saved her from a drifting ship? That just says teenage girl. It's not terribly informative."
"…Tall, dark hero?"
Looking up, she sees that Kanan is wearing his Oh, come on now expression.
"Seriously," says Sabine "You're about eight feet tall and you shoot like the devil himself. If you had a leather jacket, you wouldn't be able to see for swooning girls. What's not to admire?"
"Oh, Hera could give you a list," says Kanan, grinning.
"It's ridiculous. Worse, it's trite. I thought I was better than – "
"It tells you that you are human," says Kanan. "And that you are looking for a place where you belong. Most of us do. And for most of us, that means we are looking for the people that complete us, in the literal sense. The people that push us to be the best possible version of ourselves."
"And for you, that's Hera," says Sabine.
"Yes," says Kanan simply. "And I suppose, for you, it was Ketsu. For a while."
"… Yes," Sabine hears herself saying in a very small voice.
"I'm sorry it ended this way," says Kanan.
For a while, they are both just watching the sunset. Lothal has a good sunset, she thinks, it's probably all the pollution from the Imperial durasteel factory, but it does make for a good sunset.
She wonders if the topic is finally finished, when Kanan asks, in a calm voice, "What mission could have been so important that she'd leave you behind?"
"Just a delivery," says Sabine. "Stolen droids. That should have been our entry ticket to Black Sun. She always wanted it more than me. So I guess she did push me to be a better – well, a different version of myself. We are talking about Black Sun, after all."
She blinks, thinking this through for the first time. "So, to answer the question," she begins. "That was what was so important. Thrill, money, fame, and all she had to give up was me. A good deal, right?"
"Not for Ketsu, no. For you, though –" says Kanan. "No, hear me out. Consider who you could have been. Doesn't it make sense now, that you're here instead? Yes, she left you behind, but now you are free to leave her behind. You don't have to rely on just one person anymore. We are offering you four Spectres, and a place, and a purpose, if these are what you are looking for. If you want to be Spectre Five."
He looks at her questioningly.
"I can't answer that yet," Sabine says. "Not until you trust me. You talk about trust so much, but you're not –"
"Not what?" says Kanan.
"Never mind," says Sabine. "I'm not sure if this conversation has not already been uncomfortable enough."
"But you're right," says Kanan. "This thing won't work if we don't feel comfortable asking the questions we need answered. And I believe you said you had a question."
"One, yes," says Sabine. And she still hesitates, because maybe it's best not to know.
But she watches him from the side. Sees Kanan straightening himself. He knows, or guesses, that she knows.
So out with it, Wren. "On the roof today," she says, "you dropped a metal cylinder when I careened into you. What is it?"
Kanan does not look surprised, though he is silent for a long while. "There is no going back from this," he says. "Knowing will make your life a fair bit more dangerous."
"You said all this stuff about trust," says Sabine. "So do the work and trust me now."
There is silence, and it is not abating and Sabine is frustrated. Just when she thinks she has a handle on Kanan – a common ground, an understanding, even empathy for her past, something that has genuinely made her feel better there for a minute – he falls silent when it could be his turn to open up. Now she just feels dissected.
She realises belatedly that he may have invited this question not because he is ready to let her in on the secret, but just to see how much she has already guessed. How much work it is going to be to cover up.
And if she's being fair, she could almost understand it, because there are chapters in her past that she never again wants so much as think, much less talk about.
But then, nothing about their exchange here feels fair, because all she got out of Kanan was the story of Yulinda, the amazon of Merrywater, Inc. How dares he read her so well, when she's not allowed to know the first thing about his past?
And after she's done thinking all these thoughts, Kanan still manages to surprise her by speaking first.
"You're the weapons expert," he says. "You already know."
To be continued.