Chapter Text
<The following report is classified and may only be accessed by persons with a rank of GNRL and above.>
...The creatures, a deep-space species known as purrgil, proceeded to attack the Chimaera and the rest of the fleet. This type of behaviour is extremely unusual for their species and is presumed to be the work of the young Jedi, Ezra Bridger, who was present on board the Chimaera. The purrgil then jumped into hyperspace while still holding onto the Chimaera. It must be presumed that the Chimaera, and everyone on board including Grand Admiral Thrawn, have thus perished through exposure to the vacuum of space and/or hyperspace.
At this point, the transmission of the Chimaera’s holo recordings of Lothal cuts out. From this point, all report is based on recordings from inside the Dome, since the Rebels had activated protocol 13; very few soldiers survived, and those that did are presumed to be either imprisoned or traitors…
<Report ends.>
For the rest of the day, Ezra focuses exclusively on the children while the rest of them either join in or watch calmly from the sidelines. In Alex’s case, it is mostly the latter, although he does encourage the twins to show off their lightsabers so that Ezra can make appropriately impressed noises and promise to help Jacen build his first one if he gets a kyber crystal. That, of course, leads to Zeb explaining where they actually got his and the boys’ crystals, with a few careful edits so as to protect Chinyere’s identity as the Red Stripe.
Once that is out of the way, Ezra is free to simply play with the boys, to mess around getting to know them. Alex watches for a while, fondly pleased with how well the four of them get on; eventually, though, he decides to leave them to it so that he can take care of the chores he left undone earlier on.
That is where Ezra finds him some time later, scrubbing plates and humming along to a symphony by Ziller. He looks up at the sound of footsteps and blinks.
“Got fed up of the children already, have you?” he jokes, though gently.
“I -” Ezra shakes his head. “They wanted to meditate with me and I thought it would be, like, a quick easy thing cause, yannow, they’re kids an’ all, but… What nine-year-old enjoys meditation? I tried to follow along, really I did, but – ugh, sometimes the Force doesn’t really do anythin’ for ya, yannow?”
“Mhm,” Alex nods, sympathetically. “So you just left them and came in here.”
Ezra rubs the back of his neck. “What can I say, I need a break.”
“Ah,” says Alex, and goes back to his cleaning. “Well, I don’t mind. You can stay here until you’re ready.”
“Thanks. Hey, Kal – uh, Alex?”
Alex looks up again. “Mm?”
“Your… face,” begins Ezra, leaning against the wall.
“What about it?”
Ezra’s forehead scrunches up. “It’s the same.”
For a few moments, Alex stares at him. “I haven’t had any surgery or major scars or anything like that, so yes, I suppose it is.”
“No -” insists Ezra – “I mean exactly the same. Like, you literally haven’t changed in… nine, ten years? Apart from the beard, I guess, and you’re – you look healthier…”
“Heavier, you mean.” And then when Ezra stutters in protest: “It’s all right, I know I’m not as skinny as I used to be. Your point being?”
“You haven’t changed that much, though.”
“...And?”
“I dunno, just a thought.” Ezra shakes his head. “Man, isn’t it weird that you’re my brother-in-law now? I don’t feel old enough to have a brother-in-law. Don’t feel old enough to be a brother-in-law.”
If there’s a connection between those two separate threads of the conversation, Alex isn’t sure he can see it; he tries to keep up. “You’re twenty-six now, aren’t you?”
“Twenty-seven, I think. When was the last Empire day?”
“Five years ago,” replies Alex truthfully. He begins to wash out another of the bowls from this morning’s breakfast. “We celebrated by getting married and then excessively drunk. There was only one firework, but it was the biggest one I’ve ever seen.”
Ezra snorts. “You liar. There were plenty of fireworks, weren’t there?”
“Well, excuse me for attempting to add a little dramatic flair,” Alex replies, trying not to sound too serious.
“You know,” comments Ezra, with a cheeky grin, “I never thought I’d be so happy to see you being an absolute dick.”
“Likewise, Jabba.”
“I’ve been wondering,” he adds, “how do you put up with Zeb’s smell? Because when I was bunking with him…”
“What smell?”
“Hm. Fair enough.” Ezra folds his arms. “How old are you again?”
“We’re back to the age question? Forty-eight.” Alex tips his head. “Why?”
“I dunno, I guess you don’t look forty-eight.” Ezra squints at him. “You still look… however old you were when we first met.”
Alex raises an eyebrow. “Thirty-four? How complementary.”
“I get how Zeb hasn’t changed that much,” adds Ezra, without acknowledging Alex’s comment, “cause Lasats probably don’t age the same as Humans, right? But you are a Human.”
“Yes,” agrees Alex. “I am.”
It is true that he’s been expecting his first grey hair or wrinkle for some time now, but neither have made an appearance. He hasn’t even started to go bald yet. His parents, he remembers, were already old when they had him, white at the temples and lined around the mouth before he hit puberty: his father was thinning on top, and his mother had been losing her sight.
...Well, it’ll happen sooner or later.
“You, on the other hand,” he adds, “you’ve grown up a lot.”
Ezra runs a hand through his hair. “You think so?”
Alex nods. “When we first met, I – well, actually, I was disappointed you weren’t using your full potential for the Empire.”
Ezra snorts.
“The irony does not escape me,” chuckles Alex. He picks up a pan, inspects it, and plunges it into the hot water. “My point is, well, look at you now. It’s been an honour to watch you grow into a fully realised Jedi.” He looks over his shoulder at Ezra. “I’m proud of you. We all are, really. And I know Kanan would have been, too.”
It’s very rare for Ezra to be speechless – in fact, Alex isn’t sure that he’s ever seen it. Now, though, he seems lost for words, as if he’s surprised to hear such a genuine complement from Alex.
“Damn,” he murmurs at last. “You are a good dad.”
It’s Alex’s turn not to know what to say: he dips his head, pleased, not quite believing it. He puts away the last dish, switches on the kettle, and gestures for Ezra to sit down. “Would you like some tea?”
Ezra raises his eyebrows; he sits, one leg folded over the other, and waits patiently for Alex to hand him a cup of farfel tea, and for Alex to make himself comfortable at the table.
“This is good shit,” he remarks, after a few sips.
“Isn’t it?” nods Alex. He inhales the steam from his own cup: the sweet, delicious smell is comforting, these days. “I always bring some when we’re leaving Lira San.”
Ezra’s face turns nostalgic. “Oh, man, I remember that place. Now that I’m back, I’d love to come and visit, see what it’s like on the surface.”
“You’re very welcome,” Alex replies. “Any time you like. As are the others, of course.”
“Thanks, man, I will.”
For a moment, the two of them drink their tea in silence, waiting for the other to speak. At last, Ezra rests his chin on his hand and looks askance at Alex.
“It must have been weird for you,” he begins suddenly. “For Zeb to just…” He makes the wiggling-hand gesture. “Out of the blue, an’ all.”
“A little,” admits Alex. “And somewhat frightening, when he couldn’t control it very well. We had rock tornadoes and even a little lightning once. One becomes accustomed to it.”
Ezra snorts. “Good ol’ diplomatic Ka – Alex.” Alex isn’t sure how sarcastic he’s trying to be. He scratches his head, taps the table, and at last adds: “You’re still, uh, ordinary, though, aren’t you?”
“Positively mundane,” replies Alex, deadpan. “Rather boring, in fact.”
Ezra raises an eyebrow. “Apart from the fact you’re married to a Jedi.” He takes a sip of his tea. “But I guess that’s none of my business.”
“You think he’s…? Don’t you need to…” Alex waves a hand vaguely. “Oh, I don’t know, go through mystical rites and things like that?”
“Dude,” says Ezra, with an incredulous look, “you’re talkin’ to me.”
“Point. Even so -” Alex replies – “isn’t there a Code you need to follow? One which forbids marriage, or relationships, or something like that?”
Ezra shrugs. “I dunno, is there? Cause Kanan -”
“Is dead. No one here wants that for Zeb, not even me.” Alex shakes his head, and then corrects himself. “Especially not me.”
“...Yeah, fair enough. But, like, that Code’s gone, man.” He opens his hands wide. “The whole kriffing Jedi culture got thrown out of the window thirty years ago -”
Alex groans. “Well, now I feel old, even if I don’t look it -”
“- and you and him are still both worrying about all these hoops that they used to have to jump through even though most of them haven’t existed for my entire lifetime, and I jumped through some hoops but not all of them and Kanan and I created whole new hoops and – and I think this metaphor is running away from me…”
“Or jumping through a hoop,” replies Alex drily.
Ezra nods. “But you get the point, right? I mean, far as I’m concerned adopting kids off the street and teaching them the Force is a pretty Jedi thing to do. What I’m saying is that being a Jedi is… it doesn’t really exist any more. Or if it does it’s a whole new thing. I mean, I don’t kriffing know what Skywalker is doing -”
“Emotional abuse,” Alex supplies, with quite a lot of resentment. The twins’ vision has only solidified his grudge against bloody Fluke Skywanker. If he’s going to try and kill them, he’s definitely going to have to go through both Alex and Zeb first.
“- but as far as I’m concerned being a Jedi is what you make it.” Ezra blinks as he registers what Alex just said. “Damn. What did he even do?”
Alex folds his arms. “He blamed Zeb for the deaths of his family and friends on Lasan.”
“Wow,” says Ezra. “What a dick. Like, even you didn’t go that far.”
“No,” Alex sighs, feeling once more the twinge of guilt and regret, “I took the credit instead.” And then, catching himself before yet another cycle of self-loathing: “Well, anyway, it’s not as though Zeb has had much more training than any of the children. Mister Skywalker even told him he was too emotional. Yet somehow, he’s still the one who ended up teaching them in your absence…”
“He’s a big guy with a lot of big emotions,” Ezra nods, “but that’s okay, yannow? Sometimes you need your emotions. And, like, he seems to be doing pretty okay so far training-wise. The meditation, building those sabers with the twins… His Force abilities are actually pretty advanced, considering.”
“Oh, good.” Alex allows himself to sit back, and finishes what’s left of his tea in one lukewarm gulp. “Can you tell him that? He does doubt himself so. Coming from you…”
“Yeah,” sighs Ezra, “been there. Don’t worry, I already told him.”
Alex nods, relieved. “I don’t think he’ll agree with your assessment that he’s a Jedi, even so. He’ll say he hasn’t had the proper training or trials, things like that.”
“Oh, man, Kanan used to say that kind of thing all the time, too.” Ezra shakes his head. “Then he had this vision where the Grand Inquisitor knighted him and, well, he got a bit more comfy with the word Jedi after that.”
Alex strokes his beard. “So, in other words, it’s probably normal.”
Ezra shrugs. “I ‘unno, I guess. Pretty much every Jedi I’ve ever met was in denial about being a Jedi at some point. It’s, like, one of the defining characteristics.”
“...Including yourself?”
Ezra opens his mouth, closes it, and groans. “Boy,” he says, “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“I’m afraid so,” replies Alex, a little smugly. Ezra rolls his eyes and turns away for a few moments, pretending to sulk. He’s still so young. He’s been through so much – and yet Alex realises that he’s a full adult now, as much as Alex ever was on Lasan or – well, not quite as old as Alex was when he first met Zeb on Lothal, but not that far off anymore.
It’s the sort of feeling that aches a little in his chest. Once, Ezra was a little boy, just like the twins. Now – now he and Alex can have banter and adult conversations. Alex remembers a time when Ezra pretended to be a student at the local Imperial Academy as a little malnourished barely-teen, and finds it near incomprehensible that that child could turn into this man.
Perhaps it’s time to change the subject, if only to calm the existential dread that threatens to rise up in his own mind if he starts thinking too hard.
“By the way,” he starts, “I don’t suppose you happened to find my old bo-rifle on the Chimaera.”
“No, it -” a moment, in which Ezra’s gaze clouds over, before he shakes his head – “I don’t have it.” Then, with confidence in his voice but not in his expression: “It’s gone.”
Alex recognises that asking more wouldn’t be helpful, and nods. “I see. Well, never mind. I have other weapons, and to be honest I don’t particularly need any of them.”
“Mm.” There is a shift: Ezra closes his eyes for a moment. Alex recognises the… Force-user way of trying to sense deeper and further. He’s seen it in Inquisitors, too, although there was always much more of a tension when they used the Force. Anyone in the immediate vicinity, including himself, used to be on their guard for… unpleasantness.
“But,” says Ezra, suddenly opening his eyes and disrupting Alex’s recollections, “there is a weapon here that doesn’t have an owner.”
“...What?”
“It wants to be used,” continues Ezra. His fingers shift against the mug still in his hands; he stares vacantly through the wall and into a dimension only he can see. “It… was given to you, and you refused it.” He snaps into focus and glares at Alex. “Dude, I’m pretty sure that’s some sorta cultural insult.”
“I know,” Alex admits. Now he understands. The spare bo-rifle left by Kalo’im has been following him around, ownerless; he’s conscious both that he doesn’t deserve to wield it and that it’s very rude not to after even Kalo’im’s direct kin Verrashyn offered it to him. He’s been trying to convince himself that a better candidate will present their self and he’ll be free of the burden that is this too-sacred weapon. And yet…
Ezra’s eyes have closed again. “I can feel it, you know. Zeb’s one didn’t used to have a presence in the Force, just like he didn’t used to. This one does, a little. It’s waiting patiently for now, but it’s getting… uhh, I don’t think ‘unhappy’ is the right word, I mean it’s not a sentient being as such, doesn’t have emotions that we can really compare with. Anyway. I think if you keep ignoring it, it’s gonna start affecting Zeb and your boys. I don’t think they’ve noticed it yet, but they will, trust me.”
“I can’t,” tries Alex lamely. “It wasn’t given directly to me, not like my old one was.”
“Uh-huh.” Ezra puts down his mug on the table and tips his head. “Can I see it?”
Obediently, Alex dips out to his and Zeb’s room; once he’s retrieved it, he returns to Ezra and lays the weapon in his hands. Ezra hefts it, balances it briefly in one hand, presses it against his forehead in that gesture that racks Alex with guilt and memories.
“So.” Ezra stands at last and extends the bo-rifle into its staff configuration. “If you won’t accept it, you won’t mind if I use it instead.”
Alex’s gut churns. “Be my….” He means to say be my guest, but the words refuse to leave his lips. There’s a strange possessiveness, an attachment – even jealousy and anger that pulls at his mind and lifts his hand to reach for the weapon.
He’d wanted to try pacifism. He still wants that – never to fight a war again. He wants… he wants the weapon, but not as a warrior. But didn’t Zeb have a similar feeling about modifying his bo-rifle? He’d talked about not wanting to be a Jedi, and yet Ezra has pretty well convinced Alex that Zeb has stumbled into Jedi status just the same. If he takes up this bo-rifle, it won’t be the same thing, but there’ll still be that responsibility to Guard Lasats. To protect with honour, even just his own family and friends.
Ezra grins. With both hands, he presents the bo-rifle to Alex. Alex breathes in slowly and on the exhale takes the handle of the bo-rifle. He presses the handle into his forehead for a moment: there is a right and proper way to complete this ritual.
“I accept the honour of this weapon.”
His bo-rifle, now. It feels… like a relief. Like a pressure lifted from his shoulders. It feels good, it feels correct. It’s not quite the right size or shape for him yet. Too big, too awkward for him. He knows, though, that he’s allowed to modify it.
In one fluid, easy movement, Alex moves into a ready position by the table; he holds the bo-rifle out and extends it to its full length. His thumb traces over the button to electrify it, and then presses down: the golden electricity fizzles into existence with only a little reluctance. He hasn’t cared well enough for it. He’d better clean it properly if he doesn’t want it to malfunction. And yet Alex still feels a rush of adrenalin, of emotion, as soon as the weapon sparks to life: he gasps with the heady thrill of it all.
“...Oh,” he murmurs, enraptured. “I have missed this.”
“Don’t get weird about it, dude.”