Visions

Thirteen: Unless...

Sabine lay on her bunk, hands folded behind her head, and stared at the durasteel panels that formed the ceiling.

She didn't actually see them, however. All she could see was Ezra's grin after she kissed his cheek. A small smile played across her lips.

It had been a week since Ezra had left, and Sabine had gained back her colour. Just the thought of his reaction filled her heart with this bubbly feeling. And she loved it.

Her smile widened as she remembered what she'd overheard Zeb and Hera saying the day before.

"Hera, I think something's goin' on between Ezra and Sabine."

Hera looked over at him, and Sabine paused in the doorway.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that while Ezra was here, Sabine was always looking..." The Lasat struggled to find the word. "I don't know! But then he left, and she's back to normal. I'm telling you, she's mad at him about somethin'. Somethin' big."

Sabine chuckled slightly. If that was the hypothesis, she wasn't going to correct them. Just for the fun of it.

Just then, Hera's voice came over the ship's comm. "Sabine, I need to speak with you in the cockpit."

Sabine sighed, and rolled off her bunk. Time to talk to the boss.
When Sabine got to the cockpit, both Hera and Kanan were waiting for her. She was instantly wary.

"What's this?"

~//~

The ship had entered hyperspace the day before, so Ezra calculated only about eleven hours until he reached his destination. He decided to use that time to meditate.

He'd been so focused on Sabine that he'd neglected his studies, neglected the Force. But even now, as he closed his eyes, trying to sink into the Force, all he could see was Sabine's face. All he could feel was her arms around him, her soft kiss on his cheek.

Could it mean she had feelings for him? Or was it just that she was worried about the mission?
And what about what Kanan said? That Jedi can't form attachments?
He shook his head, trying to clear it. No matter what, this wasn't the time. The odds that he'd get all the defectors out of the compound were very slim, and he needed to be focused.
All of a sudden, the world around him changed.
Ezra stood in a corner of his old house, and in front of him were his parents.
A little boy with dark blue hair sat on Ephraim's shoulders, laughing as his father tickled him.
Ezra smiled slightly, watching the younger version of himself play with his dad until his mother came over.
She called them to the table and they all sat down.
"I'm so glad we're all here together," Mira said, and Ezra noticed the meaningful, contented glance his parents shared. As if they didn't know what was going to happen.
Suddenly, someone stood next to Ezra in the corner, but he felt no alarm. The woman seemed peaceful, and it all just felt...right. She looked very familiar, somehow.
"Wonderful, isn't it?"
He nodded, unable to say anything.
"If only it could have stayed like this."
"They died defending what they loved. I've made peace with that."
She smiled up at him.
"You are right, Ezra. But they also left you."
Ezra shook his head. "It wasn't by choice, and it wasn't their fault. I know that now."
She took him by the arm and led him through the door and outside. Suddenly, they were in a Jedi temple. Somehow, Ezra knew he was on Coruscant.
In front of Ezra, a dark haired boy trained with a lightsaber, his master standing nearby, smiling slightly.
After a few minutes of watching, the Jedi lifted her hand and the boy stopped. "You are doing very well, Caleb." The boy turned his head with a smile, and Ezra could see a long padawan braid on the back of his otherwise close-cropped head. "Thank you, Master."
The woman beside Ezra turned to him. "This is your master, with his."
Ezra could see it now. The aquamarine eyes, the brown hair, the slight smirk he wore when he was pleased.
Master Billaba placed her hand on his head, and smiled down at Kanan with fondness.
Ezra smiled slightly. Then the woman beside him touched his arm, turning him. He saw another scene.
A young girl, maybe eight years old, sat in a room with splats of paint all over the walls. Ezra didn't need to be told who this was.
Sabine jumped up as someone who didn't understand the horrors of life could, and grinned happily before scampering through the doorway. Ezra and his guide followed.
In the next room, a dark haired woman sat at a computer, her face scrunched in concentration. But on Sabine's entry, the woman turned her attention away, and her features brightened. "Mom! I painted another picture! I think it's even better than the last one!"
Sabine's mother feigned disbelief. "Nothing could be better than the last one, 'Bine! But show me anyway!"
The young Sabine fairly sparkled with excited as she showed her mother the painting, and her mother gasped, real wonder covering her face. She turned the girl's face towards her. "Don't you ever let anyone tell you to stop, or that you can't paint. You are amazing."
Sabine looked up at her with solemn eyes. "I promise."
Ezra smiled, his already tender heart softening even more towards the tough Mandalorian.
The woman's hand on his arm washed the scene away, and a stone training centre took it's place. In the middle, a young Lasat stood, bow-rifle in hand, as many other of his kind stood around the edge of the arena.
A large warrior stepped forward, and opened his own rifle, making the ends crackle with purple energy. He pointed it toward the younger Lasat, which Ezra now recognized as Zeb, and scowled.
Zeb smirked, and activated his weapon.
Running forward, he raised his rifle over his head, and the two warriors clashed.
The older Lasat blocked his hit with one end of his weapon, kicking at Zeb with one of his powerful legs.
Zeb dodged, spinning the crackling electricity on his staff towards his opponent's legs. The warrior jumped, missing the rifle's end by only an inch. Ezra leaned forward, catching his breath.
The two Lasat clashed again, and the older warrior seemed to have the upper hand.
Only until Zeb kicked our, spinning and knocking the rifle from the Lasat's grasp. It fell harmlessly to the ground a few meters from where Zeb stood, the older warrior on the ground, the crackling end of the bow-rifle at his neck.
At the end of the arena, an old Lasat stood, and the rumbling that had filled the arena hushed. "Garrazeb Orrelios, you have completed your final test with flying colours. Welcome to the Honour Guard."
The man sat down as the crowd erupted with cheers and Zeb deactivated the bow-rifle and helped the other warrior up. They bowed to each other, and the defeated Lasat lifted Zeb's arm into the air.
The woman took his arm, and Ezra again turned from the quickly fading scene.
A young Hera stood looking at an old Corellion ship, a slight determined smile on her lips. Her father stood beside her, looking on with unease. "Are you sure you want this one?" Doubt filled the Twi'lek man's voice, but Hera didn't seem to notice. "It's perfect! Just a few fix ups, and she'll be ready to fly."
She smiled, the self confidence Ezra knew so well fairly spilling from her. Her father wasn't so optimistic. "It is a...nice ship, I suppose, but, barely worth it's money."
"Father, the price wasn't too steep. And besides," she added, walking up and patting the dented side if the frieghter. "It'll give it all back."
Cham smiled slightly, shaking his head. "You know you always get what you want. Here," he handed her some credits. "Go buy your Ghost."
The scene disappeared, and Ezra turned to the short woman at his side. "I don't get it. What are you trying to show me?"
She smiled slightly. "This is what it could have been like, without the Empire. This is how it should have been."
Ezra looked down. "But it's too late. That time is gone."
She shook her head, and touched his arm, her earnest eyes searching his. "That time is still possible. If you are willing."
Ezra stepped back, sudden wariness filling him. "That's impossible. You can't go back."
"Nothing is impossible with the Force."

You will find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view.
~Obi-Wan Kenobi