A/N: Okay, so, I started working on my master's degree and between that and my prep for work every day, I'm swamped. Also I'm trying this new thing called "not reading or writing until all my homework and my lesson planning is done," and the weekends have been busy since school started back, soooooo...currently I think I'm averaging like 2 hours a week writing, which is putting a cramp in my soul-lol! I miss the fandom. And I hope to catch up on reading all the lovely fics I know I've missed. Don't give up on me, guys!

Anyway, about this chapter. I don't remember why or what inspired me to write it this way, but I did, and I REALLY hope you like it!

Two Became One

7.5 Years Ago, 1.5 BBY

He'd lost count of how many times she'd changed position in the last few hours. Instead, he was playing a game of "how long will she do this before she decides to talk to me about whatever the kriff it is?"

Kanan and Hera had been together nearly a decade and neither blindness nor darkness was enough to keep him ignorant of the fact that she had something on her mind.

"Hera," he mumbled groggily at zero-three-thirty. "Stop."

In the process of rolling over and yanking all the covers with her, she froze. "Did I wake you?"

"No." He scrubbed a hand over his face, sitting up against the bunk wall. "Waking is only for people who've actually been asleep."

Hera sighed contritely. "I'm sorry, love." She did her best to settle down, resting her head on his shoulder, reaching to wrap one arm around him, the way she always did when she was most in need of his reassurance. Kanan could feel tension in her shoulders.

With a gentle touch, he stroked her lek. She stiffened at first, and then leaned into him. After several long, silent moments, he said, "Talk to me."

"I..." She stopped, tipping her head back to look at him. "You're going to think this is ridiculous."

"Lay it on me, Syndulla."

Again, Hera sighed. "I worry about the kids," she admitted quietly.

Kanan's face scrunched in confusion. Of all things for her to be stewing about at three in the morning, he hadn't expected this. "Ezra and Sabine?" As if there were any other kids she could possibly be talking about. "Why?"

"You're kidding. Come on."

Disgusted disbelief colored her tone and Kanan bit his tongue against the urge to ask what made her think he'd suddenly cultivated the ability to read her mind. "No, I'm not," he answered evenly.

"Kanan." He didn't have to see her to know she was rolling her eyes. She sat up, tucking her legs under her as she turned to face him. "Surely you see it."

Ezra often wondered what would have happened between him and Sabine if things…had gone differently that day with Thrawn. He'd spent a lot of time in Wild Space imagining an alternate past where he'd never disappeared with the Seventh Fleet, instead returning to Yavin and the Rebellion alongside his family. In every version of that alternate past, his friendship with Sabine developed into something more.

The fantasy wasn't completely unfounded; in the weeks they spent on Yavin Base before heading off to Lothal, he'd felt the Mandalorian's gaze lingering on him more than once. Her smile was warmer, he thought, than it had been before. Sometimes her hand brushed his as they walked together. He'd begun to harbor hope that maybe someday she'd see something in him—

And then they'd argue about something completely stupid and he'd find himself wanting to wring her neck instead of kiss her like he'd been longing to for years.

"I don't know what she wants from me," he'd blurted in frustration one afternoon years before. He was in the Ghost's cockpit with Hera, helping with system maintenance and updates.

The Twi'lek spared only a glance. "Sounded to me like she wanted you to sign off on inventory logs—days ago—and you didn't."

"That's not what—" He got almost all the way through that sentence before he realized Hera was very determinedly playing coy. "Never mind," he muttered.

Hera sighed then, swiveling in her seat to face him. He remembered thinking at the time how tired she looked; pale, almost, and preoccupied. Now, years later, he understood why, and he understood why her eyes followed Kanan—who was outside with Zeb—as she spoke. "I think," she'd said slowly, "it's not—it's not about what she wants from you. If I had to guess? She's trying to figure out what she wants with you."

Ezra balked, mouth wide open, and his heart did a flip. "For real? You think so?"

"If I had to guess," Hera repeated evenly. It was code for: That's pretty much what Sabine told me, but the subtlety of the statement was lost on Ezra, perhaps for the better.

"So—what do I do?"

Hera considered for a moment, then she reached forward to squeeze his hand. "Nothing," she answered. "Just keep being you. That's enough."

He worried that it wasn't.

He worried—both then and now—that someday, somehow, in some way, he'd fail Sabine.

The spark between Ezra and Sabine should have been painfully obvious, Hera thought; that tension and uncertainty, that total trust and friendship was so similar to what she and Kanan had shared in those early days. Back then, they'd both been too scared to define the thing between them. Hera was the only one still scared now. She swallowed against a wave of emotion.

She'd failed Kanan. Over and over, for years and years. She was failing him, she knew, every day that she didn't tell him about the child she was carrying.

Soon, she thought. After the strike on Lothal. They could make plans then.

It scared Ezra to know that Sabine was about to become his wife, that they were about to pledge eternity to one another, and that there were an infinite number of ways in which he could fail to provide for her, to make her happy, to open his heart to her.

The night before their wedding, he watched her sleep, but the steady rise and fall of her chest wasn't comforting. Neither was the peaceful expression on her face. Was she sure? He wondered. Was she really sure, after the half-decade they spent apart, thatshe wanted this—that she wanted him?

He managed a few hours of fitful sleep and Sabine was gone when he woke, her side of the bed no longer warm. But there was a slip of paper on her pillow with a message scrawled:

I saw that crease between your eyes while you were sleeping—you know, the one that's there when you're worried about something? You'd better not be getting cold feet on me, Bridger. I've been waiting for this since the day you left Lothal, so you'd better not kark it up.

I love you.

At that moment, Sabine walked in, cheeks flushed and eyes bright from a run outside, and she grinned at him as she turned into the 'fresher. "Our appointment this evening still stands?" She asked breezily.

"I'll be there," he said, grinning right back. And just like that, all of his fears vanished.

Kanan was preoccupied thinking about Ezra and Sabine; he didn't notice how Hera, just for a moment, rested her hand on the barely-there curve below her navel.

He made a sound that was half-grumble, half-sigh. "Yeah, I see it." He sat up straighter, running a hand through his hair. "If I've told Ezra once, I've told him a thousand times to quit—"

"It's not just Ezra," Hera interrupted. "Sabine…something's changed there."

Kanan's eyes widened. "You think so?"

"Uh, yes."

"How do you know?"

Ursa wasn't angry—in fact, she said several complimentary and congratulatory things—but it was made clear that by choosing to marry Ezra, who did not intend to fully adopt Mandalorian culture, Sabine was closing the door on any future status or influence she might have held with Clan Wren.

Sabine didn't care.

As far as she was concerned, she'd given up her position at her mother's successor the moment she gave the darksaber to Bo Katan. It had just taken Ursa seven years and the news of her daughter's engagement to see things the same way. Truth be told, Sabine didn't even see herself as entirely Mandalorian anymore.

On the morning of her wedding day, she stood in the 'fresher, studying her naked reflection in the mirror. She saw her arms and face tanned by years spent beneath Lothal's sun instead of pale from seeking refuge indoors from Krownest's cold. On her hip, the faded and jagged scar left by a blaster wound, earned during one of her and Ketsu's bounty hunting jobs gone bad. On her knee, the evidence of a nasty fall because she'd tripped over then-toddler Jacen. A faint, white scar crossed one palm, the only remaining trace of an electrical burn she'd gotten in the turret of the Ghost when a TIE fighter landed a lucky shot and shorted out her controls. Odd patches of bruising still dotted her chest and the gash on her forehead, well-concealed by bangs, was still healing even though weeks had passed since she and Ezra crashed after the pirate attack.

Her body told a story that was hers alone; it had not been written by Mandalore or Clan Wren.

As she bathed, she paid attention to the curves and contours of her shoulders, chest, waist, hips. She shivered even though the water was hot, acutely aware that after tonight, Ezra would have an intimate knowledge of every part of her. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. There was no one else in the galaxy with whom she wanted to share that kind of closeness, to bare both her body and soul.

But there had always been something in her that whispered, If no one ever really knows you, you can't hurt them—and they can't hurt you.

Hera reached for the light panel by her bunk, squinting against the sudden brightness. She folded her arms defensively. "What do you mean 'how do I know?' It's like watching us, but ten years ago."

"I hope that's not the case," Kanan deadpanned, "because as I recall—"

"Yes, I know what you recall," she interrupted sourly. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"Yeah." He sighed. "You know, part of me is happy for them."

"Mm." Hera studied his face, trying to read it. "And the other part?"

Kanan hesitated. "There's...a lot of potential there for—"

"Pain," she finished quietly. "I know."

For years, Sabine's strategy regarding relationships of any kind had been to keep one foot out the door, keep any and everyone at arm's length. That started to change when she joined the Spectres; even so, she managed to keep from getting too close to anyone. It wasn't that she didn't trust Kanan and Hera and Zeb. She did—but then, she'd trusted the Empire and her clan and Ketsu, too. That had all turned out wonderfully well. Fool me once, she thought, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Then Ezra came along.

And he was either oblivious or pigheaded enough that he failed to notice the ten thousand walls she put up. He just…kept on and on and on until one day, Sabine woke up realizing he was her best friend and he knew her better than anyone ever had. It frightened her, even then.

She'd masked that fear with anger and irritation at times.

"Are you clueless on purpose, or does it just come naturally?" She'd snapped at him, shoving a datapad at him one day on Yavin Base. "I needed this inventory finished a week ago. Now, AP-5 is going to put my head on a stake because—"

He thought a grin would disarm her. "I got this, Sabine."

She hated that it almost worked, and she hated that she was letting her gaze linger on his stupid mouth. Why. The. Kriff.

"Oh, my bad." Her glare was blistering. She shoved a data pad at him and turned on her heel. "You got this. Why did I even bother worrying?"

As she walked away, she could just about hear his mouth falling open. "Wait!" He called incredulously. "You're serious? Sabine, wait! You're actually mad?"

She didn't turn around and she didn't answer him.

She was annoyed with Ezra over the inventory log; she was mad at herself for…the strange way her stomach flip-flopped when she was around him these days.

And then she was mad at Kanan for trying to Jedi his way into getting her to talk about it.

He passed her on his way back to the Ghost and the movement of his brows told her he'd picked up on her mood immediately. If he hadn't been wearing his mask, she would have wondered if he was even actually blind. He touched her elbow as she tried to walk around him, stopping her. "Hey, you good?"

A simple yes, thanks would have ended the conversation before it even started, but Sabine realized that only a split-second too late. "Fine," she snapped. "I'm great. The sun is shining, I heard kriffing birds singing in the forest, Ezra is trying to drive me into an early grave because he thinks it's hilarious to—"

"Wait," Kanan interrupted patiently. "Breathe. You're not mad at me, remember?"

Sabine huffed a sigh. "I'm not mad at all," she groused. "I just—" Her gaze flicked toward the Ghost and Ezra. "Never mind."

"You two having problems?"

Sabine's face flushed and her pulse spiked when Kanan referred to her and Ezra jointly. She didn't dislike it. "No," she said quickly. "Just—he karked up inventory and I ripped his head off over it."

Kanan gave a low whistle. "AP-5 is gonna kill you."

Sabine glared. "Thanks."

She managed to take half a step around the blind Jedi before he said, "He wouldn't do anything to tick you off on purpose, you know. Not like that."

"I know." She sighed; more and more she saw a look in Ezra's eyes which told her he'd do anything for her, if only she asked. "Yeah, I know."

The smallest frown pulled at the corners of Kanan's mouth. "So be careful with that."

She made a non-committal sound and finally made a clean getaway from Kanan.

So be careful with that.

It was a loaded statement and she knew exactly what he meant: Be careful with Ezra's heart.

Not a problem, she thought. Because being careful with Ezra's heart was a task very intimately tied up with taking care of her own, and that was a task she knew she could do all too well. Be careful with Ezra's heart?

"Don't have to be careful if you don't get involved," she muttered to herself.

Kanan shifted uncomfortably. "Do you think we should…talk to them about it or something?"

"No!" Hera was scandalized by the idea. "It's not our business. They're not kids anymore."

Kids.

Her heart ached. Her throat was tight.

"Hey," Kanan said gently, taking her hand. "Don't go getting all weepy on me."

She realized how strained and raw her last words had been. She laughed lamely. "Do you think they'll figure it out with each other?"

He couldn't see her face, but she knew he could see into her soul. "Might take a few years, but they'll get there."

Sabine's hair had grown out to the length it had been before the war, cut in the angular bob she liked, just shy of brushing her collarbones. She decided to curl it and pull the sides back, showcasing her eyes and cheekbones. It was far more feminine and formal than anything she'd ever done.

Ezra was sure to lose his mind.

Sabine's lips turned in a sly smile as she swiped on a sheer lipstick. There had been a time where she didn't want to get involved with Ezra at all, let alone fall in love with and marry him. She'd wanted to protect herself-and him—from the kind of pain she thought inevitable. Kanan, with both experience and wisdom on his side, had known. And his advice had been simple.

She remembered how his sightless gaze seemed to be full of compassion and understanding when he'd said, Be careful.

"I promise," she whispered. Her heart flipped—it was time to go say those words to her beloved. She took one last look in the mirror, smoothing her hands over the dress she'd bought for the occasion. It felt foreign, but she was pleased with the effect. Head held high and heart bursting with excitement, she left the tower and walked to the place she and Ezra were meeting.

The end of summer on Lothal brought cooler evening temperatures and an autumn wind which bent the grass on the sprawling plains, creating a golden ripple as far as the eye could see. Sabine kept having to brush her bangs out of her eyes and the gauzy fabric of her dress kept wrapping around her legs. She shivered, but it didn't have anything to do with the chill of the breeze.

She was standing here, silhouetted against the dusk sky, waiting to become Ezra Bridger's wife.

His wife.

Her mouth parted in a radiant smile as realization washed over her. Here, today, right now, she was a bride. Ezra's bride and they were about to speak the most sacred of all Mandalorian vows and be married. Husband and wife. One heart, one flesh. A binding, eternal, sacred commitment. A few short years ago, the very thought would have filled her with dread, but her heart was racing now with anticipation, excitement, and desire as she saw Ezra walking toward her.

He'd dressed up, just as she had, sporting a fitted, dark grey shirt and black trousers. He'd rolled his sleeves up to his forearms; a particular favorite thing of Sabine's. He looked tall and handsome and when he grinned at her, she noticed how his eyes—beautiful and bluer than ever—crinkled ever so slightly at the corners.

She held out her hand to him and he took it, bending to kiss her quickly. He fingered the simple beading on her cap sleeve. "I like this," he said as he withdrew. His smile was almost a smirk. "You wore orange just for me?"

She tossed her head and she noticed how his gaze was on the bounce of her curls . "This is not orange, Ezra," she retorted primly. "It's a deep shade of coral—"

"Are we here for an art lesson or are you going to marry me?" He leaned close.

Her breath caught. "Are you ready?"

"Sabine." He lifted her chin so that she had nowhere to look but into his eyes. "I've been ready for ten years."

"Okay. Okay." She took a deep breath. "What do you want to do first?"

"I…" His gaze traveled up and down her body, lingering on her mouth, and it took him a moment to process the question. "Let's do the rings."

They'd waited until the end of summer to get married; Sabine had broadly hinted she didn't want a honeymoon with him while the bruises from the crash were still fresh and painful to the touch. In the meantime, they carried on with their lives as normally as they could knowing they were preparing for a future in which they'd never be parted. As they talked about what they wanted their wedding ceremony to be like, they decided that it should reflect both his heritage and hers. They were going to speak Mandalorian wedding vows and exchange simple rings, as per Lothalian tradition.

Ezra fished in his pocket and pulled out two gold bands, holding them in his palm. He took the smaller one and held Sabine's left hand, sliding the band onto her ring finger. She laughed, overcome by joy, and Ezra cleared his throat, mock-annoyed. "Are you gonna let me do this, or…?"

She bowed her head contritely, biting down a smile. "Go ahead."

He pretended to glare at her and then he squared his shoulders and his expression became steadfast. "Sabine Wren," he began slowly, "with this ring, I give you my heart. I promise from this day forward, you shall not walk alone. May my heart be your shelter and my arms be your home."

Sabine took the other ring and slipped it onto Ezra's finger. Then she turned his hand upward, tracing soft circles on his palm with her fingertips as she spoke. He leaned closer to her. "Ezra Bridger, with this ring, I give you my heart. I promise from this day forward, you shall not walk alone. May my heart be your shelter and my arms be your home."

For the space of several seconds, they stood silently, lost in each other.

Then Sabine joined hands with him. "Are you sure you know this next part, Jedi?"

He smiled slyly. "Try me."

"Repeat after me, then."

He nodded.

"Mhi solus tome." Her native language fell from her tongue, song-like.

"Mhi solus tome."

We are one when we are together.

"Mhi solus dar'tome."

"Mhi solus dar'tome."

We are one when we are apart.

"Mhi me'dinui an."

"Mhi me'dinui an."

We will share all.

"Mhi ba'juri verde."

"Mhi ba'juri verde."

We will raise warriors.

Ezra repeated the Mando'a phrases flawlessly. When he spoke the last syllable, he took Sabine's face in his hands, bending to kiss her. She thought about telling him that's not how Mandalorian wedding ceremonies are concluded, but she decided it could wait; she was his wife now and they had forever, after all.

There was an ache in Hera's chest. "Do you think they'll be okay?"

Kanan held her tightly. "Yeah, they'll be okay."

"How do you know?"

There was a heavy pause and then Kanan smiled—a bit sadly, Hera thought. "What do you mean 'how do I know?'" He echoed her own words, but there was no teasing. If anything, it was a soft admonition. "Because he loves her. I think he always has."

He was blind and she still couldn't meet his gaze. "If I had to guess…" Hera's voice trembled. "I'd say she's always loved him, too."

"Yeah?"

Oh, how she hated the uncertainty in his voice.

She blinked against tears and leaned forward to turn out the lights. She lay down and Kanan followed suit. She wove her arms around his neck, holding him so close she could feel his heartbeat. "Yeah."

The first stars were showing as Ezra and Sabine walked hand in hand back to the tower. When the stepped in the lift, Sabine noticed how their wedding bands glinted in the light. "We really got married," she whispered in awe. She looked up at him. "The day I met you, if someone had told me this was in the future for us, I'd have said they were lying—and then punched them in the nose."

He grinned. "What would you say now?"

The lift came to a stop and the door opened. She turned around, leading Ezra through their home. She stopped in the doorway of their bedroom, looking up at him. A flush stained her cheeks; for the first time in her life, she felt shy. "I don't—really wanna say anything, Ezra."

It took a second for him to understand, but when he did, his hands found her waist and he backed her up against the doorframe, kissing her deeply until her fingers tangled in his hair and there was no space left between their bodies.

Hosnian Prime, two days later

"Mama, are you okay?"

The sheer, wild panic in Jacen's voice was enough to jolt Hera away from the message she'd just read. "Yes, love," she answered quickly. She realized she'd gasped. And dropped her mug of caf on the floor, having missed the tabletop completely. Her voice was watery and her eyes streaming.

Jacen was bewildered. He could likely count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his mother cry. "Mama?" He prompted.

"I..." She smeared tears from her cheeks, laughing at herself as she set her datapad down. "I just got some good news and guess what?"

"What?"

Hera's heart sang. They made it, they made it, they made it. "Sabine and Ezra got married."

Two angular brows pulled together, and suddenly she was looking at one of Kanan's famous nonplussed, so what? expressions. "That's cool, I guess," Jacen said, clearly skeptical. He turned on his heel, eyeing the mess of his mother's caf on the floor, and scampered away lest he get roped into helping with the cleanup.

"Yeah," she laughed, ruffling her son's hair as he passed her. "It's cool." Joy welled deep within Hera's heart. There hadn't been a happy ending for her and Kanan; they'd both known there couldn't be. But through all the years of war, separation, and uncertainty, through the last long months that the two young lovers had spent getting reacquainted with one another, Hera had hoped Ezra and Sabine would find their way.

Fresh tears spilled over. She closed her eyes and for a flicker of a second, she felt the warmth of a familiar hand on her shoulder. "You were right, love," she whispered. "They're okay."