this is a disclaimer.

nor love

The children sleep. So does Master Kenobi, albeit less soundly; his nightmares flicker through the Force in bursts of red and black, hot as flame. Shattered by grief, all his shields are gone. Yoda blocks him out; he can afford no distraction.

He looks down into the crib they share as he has looked down at countless Younglings brought to his Temple. Few were as young as these two; separating Force-sensitive newborns from their mother can be quite a trial, and while the occasional male Jedi might father a child on some mission or other, nearly seven-eighths of all female Jedi either use regular contraceptives or, more popularly, have simply been sterilised. The risk for them is -

Yoda's wandering thoughts grind to a halt.

Was.

Was.

There are, now, no female Jedi left in the galaxy.

"Only you," he tells Skywalker's daughter. "Only you."

Or is the child he's addressing the son? Yoda can't tell. Human babies look so alike, and the Force is no help. The bond between them is strong, immeasurably so, wrapping around them like a shining blanket, pulsing with their heartbeats, in perfect unison.

Strong as glass is strong: durable, but brittle. Strike it with enough force...

Their midchlorian counts, exactly identical, do not fall far short of Yoda's own. Their minds are wide open to him, and he senses weariness, wonder, a sense of loss he cannot quite understand: the loss of something warm and safe, a comfort, a protection. Ah, he thinks, their mother. Of course.

They cling to each other, of course, but untrained, untaught, barely self-aware at this early age and currently fast asleep to boot, it takes Yoda little time to isolate the bond between them and slowly, as gently as he can, begin to press down on it.

It stretches, like rubber. The children stir, whimper, reach for one another, clumsy sightless knowledgeless, protesting even though they have no understanding of what they are protesting against.

Yoda presses harder.

The bond begins to fray.

Harder still.

They cannot be left vulnerable to their father's mistake.

Harder.

Like a rubber band stretched too far, the bond snaps.

The surprise and suddenness of it throws Yoda out of their minds. Immediately the girl - he can tell them apart, now, in the Force - begins to cry, a desolate sound. The boy makes no sound, but his hands clench and unclench as if in confusion, seeking to grasp something he has let slip from between his fingers.

It is a matter of brief seconds to enter their minds a second time, one after the other, and soothe the hurt left by the broken bond,gentle mind-touch like a bandage, sealing mental wounds forever.

Children heal quickly. These two, barely a day old, will soon be whole once more.

The girl's crying dies down, distress replaced by blankness and calm, and Yoda turns to go. Tomorrow, Senator Organa and Master Kenobi will take them to their new homes.

Tomorrow, his exile begins.

At least now there is increased hope that one day it will end.