17.

EPILOGUE

18 BBY

"Leia Organa, the people's princess," the holovision blared over the beeping of the medical monitors, "celebrated her first birthday in grand style on Alderaan. Accompanied by proud parents Queen Breha and Prince Consort Bail Organa, a procession through the capital city of Aldera yesterday ended in an all-night planetwide party, which was a welcome distraction from the news of late."

"Shut it off," Sabé gritted to the midwife droid hovering over her. Its photoreceptors flashed in what might have been annoyance, but not offending droids wasn't really top priority at the moment. Just as holos about Leia's royal birthday weren't as welcome a distraction to her as they were to the rest of the population.

It had been during that all-night party that Sabé's labor began. She'd gone to bed much earlier; these days she was unable to be on her feet for long without ankles swelling and back aching, but more than that she'd been unable to be in the midst of the celebrations without hearing Obi-Wan's voice in her head: I'll be a hit at the kids' birthday parties. Sleep had eluded her more often than not throughout her pregnancy, but she nevertheless hoped it would come and stop her from torturing herself with fruitless ideas about how they might have celebrated with Luke and Leia on the Dantooine base, or wondering whether Obi-Wan had been able to be with Luke on Tatooine. In the end, it wasn't sleep that distracted her, but the sharpening pain in her back that made it impossible to lie comfortably in bed, followed by the sudden gush of clear fluid on the tile when she went to the 'fresher to try and relieve it with a warm shower.

And now here she was, six hours later, before most of the planet had even awakened, wishing she could hold hands with a kriffing droid, for there was no one else. The silence following the hologram switching off was blissful-or would've been, if she could stop her own groaning and huffing.

She'd never known pain like this.

"Have you reconsidered the anesthetic?" intoned the droid. "If you wait too long, the pain of labor may not be remediated until after the child is born. At which point it will be too-"

"I know, I know," Sabé panted.

Standing upright, she gripped the bed's footboard during the worst of this contraction, for pacing had become too difficult. It was as though some gigantic hand squeezed from within her lower back, and all she could do was breathe and shudder. The shaking of her hands was uncontrollable, even while she held tight to the curved wooden bed frame.

There. The contraction had passed. Gingerly, she lowered herself into the one comfortable chair to try to rest until the next one overtook her. Focusing on regulating her breathing, she reached up to clutch her wedding ring, which she'd worn on a chain since her fingers had swelled too much in the final month for it to fit, and stared at the trailing foliage of her wish plant. She'd brought it with her to the birthing facility at the suggestion of a book that an item of personal significance could be helpful for centering oneself.

Nothing but the best for our Sabé, Bail had promised, and he hadn't been kidding. Aldera's Women's Center had it all. In her room stood a bed significantly more spacious than a standard hospital bed, with tall bedposts and sturdy head- and footboards, a birthing chair, and a beautiful adjoining 'fresher for a water birth, should she desire it. The idea was that a woman in labor might change her mind about what sort of birth plan might work. That had already been the case for Sabé, who'd imagined taking a practical approach, getting an epidural and sleeping through as much of the labor as she could, because stars knew she wouldn't be getting much after the baby came. But once the pangs had begun, tightening her belly, she'd found she wanted to feel them, excruciating as they were.

She'd thought vaguely about reaching out into the Force for Obi-Wan; but she was no practitioner, and she'd never been more distracted in her life, despite the focal point of her wish plant. If a Jedi could meditate during labor, she'd eat a Bantha.

She was no Jedi.

The unseen hand clamped around her belly and back again, and she moaned, twisting to one side in the chair and heaving to her feet to press against the wall for support. That was the only thing that she seemed to be able to do. Breathe, and quake, and moan.

And she thought she might possibly vomit.

A soft whoosh told her someone had entered the birthing quarters, and soon she felt a firm hand on her lower back. She glanced to her left and met brown eyes.

Breha.

"Y-you shouldn't-"

"You shouldn't try to talk," the Queen shushed her.

Sabé obeyed. She couldn't talk anyway. At least not until the contraction passed and Breha helped her to ease back from the wall and into the chair again. The loose white hospital gown, drenched in sweat, felt cold against her skin.

For a moment Sabé shivered with eyes closed and head resting against the high padded back of the chair, one hand fingering the ring on her necklace. When she opened them, she looked up into the concerned face of the Queen, who stood with hands on her hips looking down at Sabé as if she were an exasperating child instead of an expectant mother.

"Why didn't you tell anyone your labor had begun?" she asked.

"I did," Sabé replied, her jaw stiff as she tried to quell its trembling.

Breha pursed her lips. "A droid. With instructions not to wake us. While you waddled down the lane to the birthing center."

"I called a cab," Sabé retorted, weakly. She didn't have the strength to look appropriately chagrined, or even to feel piqued at being chastised while she was in labor. But Breha knelt in front of her, the steel in her eyes melting into warmth.

"Let me help you, Sabé."

She managed a shaky smile and a nod. "Thank you."

"Pfft." Breha waved her thanks away and clasped her hand. "Whatever you need me to do."

The Queen was so like Padmé that tears flooded Sabé's eyes. She blinked them away. "A warm compress would be lovely."

"Done." Breha stood with crackling knees and went to the small warming unit that held the compresses.

During her brief respite between contractions, Sabé took in the Queen's appearance. Breha had dressed in soft boots, dark brown leggings, and a belted off-white tunic. Her face was scrubbed, her hair braided and pinned around her head, looking as regal in the the simple hairstyle as she would in a crown of precious metal and jewels. Fortunately, Sabé was too wrung out to think too much about her own bedraggled appearance in comparison.

When Breha returned with the compress, Sabé leaned forward so the Queen could slip it behind her. She tried to sit back again, but Breha kept her hand in place, kneading the tense muscles on either side of her spine. Sabé had to admit, it helped. A lot. Her mother's face flashed before her eyes, and she had to blink away tears a second time. Did a woman ever stop longing for her mother? More than ever, she wanted to believe that somehow both her parents could see their grandson after he was born.

After a moment, Breha asked, "Does Obi-Wan know?"

Realizing she was clutching her ring again, the pad of her thumb sliding back and forth across the smooth titanium, Sabé stopped and lowered her hand. She shook her head, unable to speak as another contraction built. It couldn't have been five minutes already, could it? And yet it didn't seem as dagger-like as the one before, as the warmth at her back, Breha's soothing hand, helped her to relax rather than strain against it.

"Don't tell me it's because you didn't want to worry him."

Sabé must've looked guilty as charged, because Breha chuckled. "It's no wonder you fell in love with a Jedi. You're cut from the same cloth."

At that, Sabé actually let out a chuff of laughter. It was a good feeling, and she was grateful for Breha's insistence on being here, though it did make her think how Obi-Wan had told her she had a way of making him laugh when he was at his lowest. A different kind of ache pinched her chest as she allowed herself another moment of longing.

"He thought you might do this" Breha went on, rubbing her palm in a circle over the compress. "He sent Bail a message a few days ago, saying that he wanted to know when the time came. I can have Bail contact him."

"Thank you, but…this might sound a bit mad to you, but I wanted to tell him another way." An encrypted message from Bail seemed so distant and impersonal.

Although Breha's brow furrowed, she said, "Through the Force?"

"When I meditate...he can find me sometimes." It worked best when Leia was near, her light a beacon to him across the star systems. They'd also felt each other, even seen a glimpse, during false labor contractions. That was why Sabé had refused the epidural. The pain of the real thing, she'd hoped, might heighten their connection. But… "I don't know if I can clear my mind enough right now to do it."

And trying but failing might be more than she could bear. She hardly made it through each contraction without coming apart for wanting him. It should be his hands on her, his encouraging words in her ear, his eyes to first see their baby.

Still, she had to try.

Fixing her gaze on the wish plant, she closed her hand around her wedding ring and shut her eyes.

For her, meditation had never felt like reaching, as Obi-Wan had described his own experience. It felt like remaining still so that the Force could meet her. So that was what she did now.

The hand came. She wasn't sure if it was the one that gripped her innards or the gentle grasp of the Force, but something held her even as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Part of her was aware of her breath coming again in regular huffs, and of standing again. Someone's hands pressed hard into her lower back while her own wrapped around a bedpost to keep herself from falling.

But she fell anyway, dropped in, to here.

And here he was.

There she was.

Obi-wan had been waiting for her. For how long, he couldn't say. Since her labor began, a sharp pang in the Force waking him in the small hours of the morning. Not bothering to change from his sleeping clothes or break his fast, he'd drawn his cloak around his shoulders, which shivered as much from fear as from the cold desert predawn, for the only other birth he'd witnessed had not gone well for the mother. Padmé's fate, of course, had little to do with the act of bringing children into the world, but he nevertheless found himself contemplating the Naboo goddess of safety who stood on the table, next to Sabé's mother's cactus, in front of the eastward window of his hut.

The twin suns would rise eventually, and he'd be ready when they did.

Tuned in to the exquisite pains of Sabé's body, he could no longer feel his own. Even the wild terror in his gut that something would go wrong felt like a dull memory. Still, he swept it farther away when he could, lest it bleed through to her somehow, focusing on her goddess of safety statue; for the Force worked through all things, including deities. If Sabé felt even a small, familiar comfort from it, he would consider it a success.

As the suns ascended to their zenith, the planet's temperature rose, too. He'd shed his cloak without being aware of it; his shirt, drenched in sweat, clung to his back and torso, as did the gown draped over Sabé. His muscles tensed in sympathetic harmony with hers, and he had to draw ever deeper on the Force to relax them enough to keep the fear at bay and stay in his meditative state. For what had seemed an eternity he'd been too far away to help, but now she was here, with him.

The moment she dropped in, he swaddled her in the Force, wrapped her in light-just as he'd dreamed so many months ago when their child began to form in her womb. He hadn't understood then that this was the future he'd seen, the course that the current of the Force had carried them down.

The Force never fails, he'd told Sabé, and the light enveloped him now, too.

The Force never failed, and neither had he. Not in this.

With that realization, a bit of the sickening rage he carried wicked out of him as though the light were a bandage, his anger a poisoned and bloody wound that, until now, hadn't been dressed properly.

"You're here," Obi-Wan said, his heart lightening further. He did not discard that emotion, but embraced the peace and happiness he always found in her.

Sabé's eyes opened, rich with pain, yet more vivid and present than they were in the glitchy holograms, and met his. "Hi," she huffed out. "Hard to talk right now."

"I know. You don't need to. Just release the pain into the Force."

The glare she shot at him was so welcome, so Sabé, that Obi-Wan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He did both. "Or just ignore everything I say and let me guide the Force to you."

"That's helpful."

A flash drew his eye to a silver chain around her neck, her fist closed around the wedding ring she'd strung on it, just as he fidgeted with its mate on his own left hand. He reached out, forward, not noticing he'd moved until his fingers threaded between hers hers.

They both stared in wonder at their clasped hands, then into each other's eyes again until the contraction gripped harder, shaking them both. He relaxed his hand and sent the Force into her, bending his body over hers until his other arm wrapped around her girth, hand pressing into her back. He could almost feel the heat of her breath on his cheek.

Then the contraction passed, and he was crouched over the gritty floor of his hut with nothing but dust floating through the shaft of sunlight before his eyes.

Panic stabbed at him, but Obi-Wan fixed his gaze once more on the goddess of safety and the leggy, flowerless cactus beside it. He settled back again, closed his eyes, and waited.

Until she returned.

Interesting. It was the labor pangs that brought Sabé to him, like the build of waves rolling toward the shore. This time when she rose toward him, he caught her in his arms, felt her sigh of relief.

"You're doing wonderfully," he told her, brushing her hair back from her forehead, the dark strands damp, skin sticky with sweat.

"I'm not doing much," she muttered. "Except moaning like a she-bantha."

"Oh, I thought that was the herd across the sand dune."

She shot him another irate look, and he chuckled. "You have every right to make any noise you like."

"You're karking right I do." Her forehead dropped against his shoulder; she was so heavy in his arms, her belly hard as the muscles contracted.

He was about to tell her to release the pain again, but at the last moment caught himself and said instead, "Breathe."

Sabé did, a deep exhale, and the peak of the contraction hit him in force, breaking apart and dissipating. This time, as her presence ebbed from him, he didn't grasp at her, for he felt the next one beginning to build already.

"Will it be much longer?" Obi-Wan asked when she returned, unable to reign in his own anxiety, his eagerness to meet his son, his desperation for her suffering to end.

She could only shake her head in reply. It must be close. He felt her fingers clinging limply to the back of his tunic as his own arms pulled her into him, her forehead pressing against his chest, the moan reverberating through his own breastbone as she rolled with the pain. As best he could, he became the Force for her, held her up as she'd done for him, so many times.

And then...there he was. Their son. He hadn't emerged yet from his mother's womb, but Obi-Wan felt his presence, so much stronger than when he'd placed his hand over Sabé's abdomen on Polis Massa. Somehow he knew her labor was nearing its end. The periods where Sabé receded from him in the Force were fewer now, and farther between, until there was almost no lapse at all between the surges in her pain. Yet time had never felt more relative as this continued on and on, for minutes or hours, buffeting him until he wasn't sure how there could be anything left.

He thanked the Force it had a use for him.

Time and space continued to warp and stretch until he was sure he must be there, with her, or that she was here with him. Through a haze of dusty light and agony, he saw two suns in syzygy. Was that his memory, or was it simply his perception of the star systems his spirit seemed to hover between? His own body was irrelevant as he sent the Force through it to hers. She could take his strength, all of it, for it didn't matter if nothing remained of him, so long as she and their son came through this, alive and strong. His only reason for being lay in his arms, across the galaxy.

Obi-Wan's body aligned with Sabé's, as did his breathing, until he wasn't certain whose voice cried out, whose muscles seized, whose elbows bore into the floor, whose thighs shook with the effort of pushing through one contraction and into the next. Was it Sabé who held him now? Or was that her, nestled in his arms, back against his chest as she panted and sobbed?

"He's almost here, my love...Almost here…" His voice was swallowed up by one prolonged cry that shattered into a wail.

One voice became two. Obi-Wan's heart cracked open, not broken, but too full to contain all it held, and he fell to the floor, quaking.

Suddenly he was cold, the sweat evaporating from his skin, the tremor in his hands uncontrollable as he lay on his back and stared at the white synstone ceiling of his little house. His fingers twitched to find Sabé's, but they were already gone, wrapped around a tiny baby held against her heaving chest. Her sobs became the familiar throaty chuckle he loved, and for the first time, he was aware of another presence near her-not a midwife droid but a woman. Breha Organa, who was shortly joined by Bail.

Something pinched in Obi-Wan's chest, but he released it with his breath, too exhausted for any emotion so petty as jealousy. He had a son, a healthy one, judging from the sound that ripped from those tiny lungs, and Sabé was safe. Thank the goddess...thank the Force…

A bit of color on the countertop caught his eye. He sat up and saw that, during the long hours of her labor, Sabé's cactus had produced a single red bloom.

The last words he heard from her lips before their connection dissolved were, "Come and see Ben."

Ben. It had to be Ben.

Sabé hadn't known it until she saw his eyes, stormy as his father's, but then the name slipped from her lips as easily as it had when she and her then-pretend husband first arrived in Keren, self-consciously holding hands like teenagers who had something to hide. She reached for him now...

...but Obi-Wan was gone. He-or she?-must have drifted away when the clenching agony that brought their son into the world had finally abated, the pain dulling as tears dried on her cheeks and laughter bubbled in her throat.

Ben. Their son. He was perfect. Aside from the fact that he had his full complement of fingers and toes, she knew that every other part of him was present and accounted for; somehow she knew it as fully as she knew Obi-Wan had been here with her, guiding her through the endless pain like a light beckoning a ship to port.

And here he was, Ben, the most glorious thing she'd ever held in her arms. The midwife droid was chattering for her to allow it to clean up the baby, but Sabé couldn't bear to let go of him yet. His hair was a dark whorl on his perfect little head, his fingers red and wrinkled as though he'd been in the bath for too long, his voice strident and strong.

Silently she thanked the Maker for allowing her as much time as she'd had with Luke and Leia. She'd be terrified now, if she had to face this not only without her husband but without a lick of experience.

Eventually, she did relinquish her baby-not to the droid, but to Breha, who bathed him. With a word of congratulations and a promise to come back later and get better acquainted with Ben, Bail stepped out to give Sabé privacy while the droid assisted her with the postpartum necessities, though she was barely aware of what was happening due to the swirl of emotion and exhaustion within her and the distraction of Ben's vocal objections to his bath. Then everything was done, and she reached out again for the bundle that seemed to be more blanket than baby, and his wailing dropped to tiny mewls, like a kitten, as she brushed her lips to his brow.

"Now doesn't it feel nice to be fresh and clean?" she murmured to him, pulling back his white knitted cap to sniff his head. New and perfect and hers-not in the sense of possession, but rather as the most perfect thing that could come from her. She and Obi-Wan together had created this beautiful little person, and she thought her heart might crack in two from the sheer awe of it all. That her tone could remain so lighthearted, her words so ordinary, in the face of such magnificence, astounded her. "You look civilized now. So handsome, just like your papa."

She hopefully looked a little more civilized herself, thanks to Breha brushing and braiding her sweat-matted hair. Out the corner of her eye, a flash of blue drew her gaze to the bedside table, where her personal hologram projector lit up, preparing to receive a transmission. With a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, the Queen slipped out to find her own husband as Obi-Wan's image crackled to life.

"Sabé," he said.

Even through the poor quality of the flickering hologram, she could see his hair hanging lank over his eyes, as though he'd worked nearly as hard as she had to bring his son into the world. Her heart throbbed with love and longing. The urge to reach out and comb her fingers through the damp red-gold, to push it back from his forehead and tidy it, was almost too much to resist. But he wasn't here.

While she mastered her emotion, Sabé turned Ben gently so that Obi-Wan could see his face.

"Well, hello there," he said, and Sabé smiled because what else would he say when meeting his own son? His eyes, shimmering with emotion, flicked up to her. "Ben. I heard you say Ben. Is that...what you've named him?"

"Ben Jinn," she said, still a little choked with tears. But she heard Obi-Wan's sharp intake of breath and knew he was, too. "Meet your papa."

His lips soundlessly formed the word papa, as if he were testing it. He must have been pleased, because he smiled slightly. But he raised an eyebrow as he said aloud, "I thought we were going to name him after your father?"

"He has the family name. Ben Jinn Al'Lur Kenobi. And a more illustrious line to carry on I could not imagine."

Even though they had to be no one. Here, he was just Ben Al'Lur. The governess' son. For now.

Obi-Wan's fingers twitched. "I wish I could hold him."

A tight lump in her throat prevented her response for a moment as her gaze darted to her wish plant. "I do, too," she said at length. "But you were right to stay away. Until we know how strong this beacon is. Better yet, how to mask it."

In response, he only nodded. She saw his shoulders rise and fall with a breath, as if he'd physically released the emotion. When he spoke again, he looked lighter, though that might've been a trick of the hologram.

"Does he have any hair?" he asked, tilting his head for a closer look.

Sabé slipped the cap off Ben's head, and Obi-Wan chuckled at the dark fuzz that stood on end. "Just like your mama when she wakes up in the morning."

She was too happy even to pretend to glare at him. "But he has your eyes."

"They could darken. Like Leia's did."

They could. Sabé hoped they wouldn't. She traced the dimple in his chin.

"Look what we made," she whispered.

A wide grin split Obi-Wan's face. "Look what we made," he repeated.

He finally ran a hand through his hair and shifted, hunching forward to try and see Ben as closely as he could. Sabé noticed that he wore his sleep garments. Had he awakened in the night during her labor?

Before she could ask, Ben began to fuss. The midwife droid offered to prepare a bottle, but Sabé opened the front of her robe and guided the wide open mouth to her breast. At first Ben seemed confused, his tiny lips opening and closing around the nipple without suckling, but the droid instructed her about positioning. Sabé shifted his head, and he latched on-painfully at first, but after a couple of adjustments to his seal on her skin, a deeply relaxing sensation washed over her, making her sink back against the pillows.

"You're a natural," Obi-Wan's voice drew her attention back to the blueish image on the bedside table. He'd sat back, too, and although she couldn't be certain with the flicker of the hologram, he looked almost as peaceful as she felt.

"I read a book." At his chuckle, she went on, stroking Ben's velvety head. "This is one aspect of newborn care I have no experience with."

"It certainly seems convenient, not having to prepare bottles in the middle of the night. And...it's a beautiful sight."

Sabé's cheeks warmed as serenity stole all through her. If only Obi-Wan were here, the joy of this day might surpass that of their wedding day.

Before the prickle in her eyes could fully form into tears, she asked "Did you see Luke yesterday?"

A thin line formed between his eyebrows, and her heart sank. "Owen Lars thinks it safest to keep me at arm's length. For Luke's protection. I am a wanted man."

His tone, too carefully bland, told her there was more to that story, but she was too heartbroken and angry to ask and make it worse for him. He truly was alone on Tatooine.

But the lines ebbed from his forehead, the sadness abating like a wave rolling back out to sea, and the smile that formed in its place was more than a mask.

"I saw in the holos that Leia had a birthday celebration fit for a princess."

Sabé nodded. "She stayed awake for more of it than I did."

"Well, that's nothing new. Perhaps...I'll be able to come for Ben's first birthday."

It had been six months already since their last embrace on Polis Massa. Sabé couldn't bear that length of time twice again.

"Come for mine," she said. "It's in three months, and my wish list is very short. I've already talked with the plant."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Care for a souvenir from Tatooine? The Jawas come by regularly with offerings of the most fascinating junk. They seem to have the idea that I'm a magician."

"Whatever would have given them that impression?"

"They think I'm a madman because I talk to myself." The twinkle in his eye was visible even through the flickering of the hologram. "But that's clearly a story for another day," he added-for Sabé had not been able to suppress a yawn. "I should let you sleep. You've earned it."

"So've you," she replied, eyelids drooping. "Did you even pause to make caf?"

He shook his head, his smile gentle. "But I dare not complain about the headache in light of how you must be feeling."

Sabé chuckled. "I love you."

"And I love you. Both of you."

They gazed at one another, Obi-Wan reaching out with a hand as though he could touch the ghostly images before him. Finally Sabé said, "You'll have to shut off the transmission first, because I'm too tired to move my arm."

She didn't see her husband's holographic image dissolve, because she'd already fallen asleep.

Tired as he was, Obi-Wan knew sleep wouldn't come easily, and presently a rented speeder dropped him at Mos Eisley spaceport. Rubbing shoulders with scum and villains had its advantages, he had to admit, for he'd never felt more anonymous than he did now. He needn't worry about being discovered in the cantina, for every other patron there had a dubious relationship with the law, and no one wanted the eyes of the Empire drawn here, for any reason.

Still, he wasn't a fool. He kept his hood up. And pocketed his wedding ring.

"A ruge liqueur," he said to the human barkeep. The man rose from loading glasses into the sonic dishwasher and leveled a disbelieving sneer at him. "Or a Retox. Whichever you've got."

"Tatooine Sunset."

"Fine."

I'm celebrating.

The band onstage squeaked out a tune that sounded like every other song he'd heard in Chalmun's Cantina, but at least it was cheerful and would drown out the tamer outbursts and scuffles. Besides, it was early; there was no smear of blood or ichor on the floor yet. Obi-Wan had neglected to eat, and even he questioned the wisdom of downing such a strong drink on an empty stomach.

But he was a new father, and as such he deserved to have a headache in the morning. It wouldn't be much of a change from his present state.

The barkeep slid the drink to him and snatched up the credits, turning his back to attend another customer. Obi-Wan turned, too, and scanned the place for a suitable table to nurse his drink in solitude. Naturally, the darkest and most private corner booths were already occupied, questionable deals being muttered across the grimy tabletops in a variety of languages. His eye fell on a table near the bandstand where a young man who looked like he was in over his head sat with a couple of bounty hunters. After a moment's deliberation, Obi-Wan approached them.

"On second thought," he said with a wave of his hand, "the deal is off."

After the bounty hunters exchanged looks, they repeated, "On second thought, the deal is off," and cleared out of the booth, the young man, spluttering in confusion and outrage, at their heels.

Obi-Wan slid in, ignoring the stickiness on the seat and the dark spatter on the wall behind his head. He balanced his elbows on the table and took a sip; exotic, with a hint of sweetness underneath.

Strong, too. He felt the pull of the alcohol almost immediately, and realized that he hadn't had a drink since Club Deeja the night of his wedding.

"To my brave wife," he said, and raised the glass again. "And our son, Ben Jinn."

"Will you choose not to be drunk?"

Obi-Wan swallowed and lowered his drink. "Kriff, no."

He smiled as Qui-Gon's transparent image appeared before him, almost as if his old Master had slid into the seat opposite.

"I'd offer you a drink, but…" Obi-Wan gestured vaguely at the ethereal form.

"I appreciate the thought," replied Qui-Gon. "In any case, one of us should be sober to ensure you don't wind up on stage with the band."

"Nothing in their repertoire seems to have lyrics. I'd have to improvise."

"On second thought, perhaps I would like to see this."

Qui-Gon's chuckle hadn't changed. Obi-Wan could almost feel it reverberate within his own chest, somewhere outside the twin pangs of loss and relief that he still felt whenever his Master joined him for a chat.

"Celebrating, I heard you say."

He hadn't said it aloud, but of course Qui-Gon had heard. "My son was born today. He's named for me. And you."

"I am honored."

"And you were right, all those years ago."

"I'm sure I was right about many things," Qui-Gon replied. "And wrong about a great many more. To which do you refer?"

"The poetry of Amaar Ren. The one you always said was about love, but I stubbornly insisted was about the Force."

"Ah, yes," said Qui-Gon. "You may seek and never find, Until you find what you never sought…"

"And the secret of all becomes yours," Obi-Wan concluded.

"What changed your point of view on your reading of it?"

"Reciting it to Sabé. She was rather effectively...wooed."

Qui-Gon's transparent brow arched in amusement. "Thank your stars I'm not corporeal. If I were, I'd order you another drink in the hope of getting more of these confessions out of you."

But Obi-Wan didn't require the encouragement of alcohol to go on, more seriously. "Actually, I was thinking of something else you were right about. You never said, but waited for me to realize it myself. Sabé did change me that day. She continues to change me."

"And yet I still recognize you."

Obi-Wan raised his glass. The dim light filtering through layers of crimson and amber liquid did, indeed, look a bit like a sunset. Sensing eyes on him, he turned his head and peered out from beneath his hood to see other patrons watching him talk to no one across the booth. They looked hastily away, and he settled back, raised an eyebrow at Qui-Gon as he drank long, then put his cup back on the table.

"Even though I'm the madman now?"

"It takes one to know one."

This time Obi-Wan chuckled, and the smiling face of his Master dispelled the ghost of Astor Ren, ragged and raving in Theed. Qui-Gon looked the same as he always had-younger, perhaps-and Obi-Wan realized that someday he'd surpass him in years. If he lived long enough.

"Then again, true madness would have been never to learn. I may have been terribly slow about it, but...I understand your teachings. At last."

"I'm sorry," said Qui-Gon, his voice deep, no, heavy with the weight of knowledge he'd borne alone for so long. He bowed his head. "I never wished for you to suffer."

"It feels less today than it did."

"Are you sure that isn't the alcohol?"

Obi-Wan eyed his drink, which was disappearing more rapidly than he'd intended. Tomorrow would bring a different kind of suffering.

"No, I felt it before. In the Force, when Sabé was in labor. She brought our son into the world, and I was able to release some of the rage and sorrow." How could he explain? "I started to understand with Luke and Leia, but now…"

Qui-Gon merely watched him, that small smile crinkling his eyes as he waited for Obi-Wan to continue.

"There are things greater than the Force." Saying it aloud unsettled him. He wasn't certain whether it was fear or elation that stirred him.

But Qui-Gon nodded. "Your understanding exceeds mine," he said. "As I knew it would."

Obi-Wan's heart swelled at his former Master's pronouncement, but he shook his head. "Sabé's wisdom dwarfs mine. She knew...knew that this was our lot, and she accepted it months ago, while I kept...struggling."

"And now?"

"It's the waiting," he sighed. "I couldn't accept it. But…"

Qui-Gon was silent. Obi-Wan took another draught.

"Now I feel, somehow, that I know all about it. About waiting. For my family." He stared into his Master's face and knew he didn't have to convince him of it. "They'll come back one day."

Qui-Gon's eyes were serious even as he smiled. "They always do," he said, "one way or another. You cannot deny the truth that is your family."

And yet he and Sabé would, by necessity, deny any relation of Obi-Wan to Ben, at least until the boy was old enough to keep quiet. Just as Leia and Luke could not know they had a twin across the galaxy; their only truths would be that of the princess of Alderaan and a farmboy on Tatooine.

What could ever prepare them to learn the truth of their father?

"Well, I certainly have time to think about how to break it to them," he mused aloud, draining the last of his sunset. Qui-Gon's gaze tracked the empty glass down to the table.

"I would advise you to discount any ideas you have about it tonight," his Master said.

Obi-Wan snorted. "If I even remember anything about tonight."

"I'll remind you of the important parts when next we commune."

"You're assuming I'll have sobered up by then."

"I'll take you just as you are." There was sadness in Qui-Gon's eyes.

Obi-Wan wished for another swig to loosen the tightness in his throat, keeping his own gaze on the bottom of his empty glass. "You were always drawn to the more pathetic life forms."

Qui-Gon remained silent until Obi-Wan looked at him again.

"A star can have many forms, young one. A red dwarf, a blue giant. Binary suns." He folded his arms and regarded his former Padawan. "Do you think a planet could survive without its sun?"

Obi-Wan knew what Qui-Gon meant, that somehow his life had taken on a new iteration, and that he would continue to provide for those who needed him. But where were his suns?

His Master bowed his head as though Obi-Wan had voiced the question aloud. Without knowing why, he stood, made his way automatically to the doorway, and out into the hot, dry night air.

He'd missed the sunset.

Though there was too much light from the spaceport to see the thousands of stars overhead, he knew they all winked at him, most of them hosts to their own systems of planets. So many lives. So much joy and grief all around him.

Here, he was no one, and his losses were no more special than anyone else's.

And yet-against all Jedi sentiment-his gains felt most extraordinary.

Obi-Wan had only taken a few steps toward a speeder-for-hire when the sandstorm hit.

Scurrying toward an inn, he paid for a room and sequestered himself there. He ordered room service and finally ate a meal.

Then he slept all through the howling night.

The silence woke him before dawn and he sat up, breathing heavily, face streaked with tears, though he couldn't remember whether his nightmare had been of losing Sabé or finding Anakin. He'd sweat through his shirt and tunic, and his hair clung to the nape of his neck. Swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, he reached for the cloak draped over the single chair, shrugged into it, and swept from the room. After all this time, he'd gotten rather good at choosing not to be drunk.

The sky was shifting from dusky purple to orange when the rented speeder dropped him at his hovel, so he decided to remain outside and watch the sunrise as he leaned against the synstone. Dust and sand particles swam through the air like bioforms, and he watched, mesmerized. The growing light shone brilliantly all around him, illuminating the spectacle.

And when the planet's rotation finally delivered the sunrise, Obi-Wan saw not two yellow stars but one giant glowing sphere as their celestial bodies aligned in perfect syzygy, red as his heart's blood through the haze of the sandstorm's remains.

He closed his eyes and walked, open armed, toward it.

THE END

A/N: Thank you again for accompanying our heroes on their journey. This fic may be over, but their story isn't. We plan some outtakes and short sequels, as well as an AU in which they do join the Rebellion. We hope to see you again, and thank you once more for all your support!