Title: Fates
Rating: PG
Period: post LotF
Genre: short story
Summary: A meeting of Fels and Solos. Most likely not what you think, unless you know me very, very well or you have read my mind. If the latter is the case, then get out of my mind, spoon bender. If you know where that line came from then you are cool.
Notes: It's continuing. Yay. Oh, I have a beta for this now! Thank goodness! To decrease confusion, the title of the whole story is "Fates".
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. It belongs to George Lucas.

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Part One: Meeting of Fates

She pushed a strand of dark brown hair from her eyes as she leaned over the datapad. It would have to be cut soon. She couldn't stand her hair long. The bright, noon sun glared from the center of the sky, the rays were deflected by the datapad's screen making its contents difficult to read. A noise of frustration escaped from her throat.

Abruptly, she stood, grabbed her messenger bag and datapad and whirled round to make her way back into the hangar. There was a large fuss going on, some ambassador or other was arriving. Still, there was no blindingly bright sun to disturb her, so all was well.

She settled down on a metal crate in an out of the way area of the hangar. For several moments she watched people go back and forth, amused at how they resembled a decapitated avian-like creature she once saw. What was its name again? Chicky? Chucky? Chucken? Oh well, that wasn't a problem.

With her messenger bag beneath her folded knees, she brought her datapad up and began reading. Time passed quickly, without her noticing. Silence fell across the hangar as unnoticed government officials started to gather to the side. A ship landed and the dignitaries swarmed, flashes indicating that there were a few holo-journalists amongst them. All this went unnoticed by her for she had fallen asleep in her hiding spot.

An hour or two later, she awoke when a gonk dropped some luggage. She startled, hand automatically reaching for her lightsaber. When she saw there was no threat, she relaxed and leaned back against the now warmed metal of the crate to rub her eyes. After a few moments of sitting, she deemed herself awake and pulled her messenger bag from beneath her knees.

Without the bag beneath them, she could finally stretch out her legs, which creaked in protest to the sudden change of position. A grimace found its way on her face but she ignored the physical discomfort. Besides, it was nothing compared to what her tail bone was feeling from being the focus of her weight for so long. She slid her datapad into the messenger bag before swinging it onto her shoulder and standing.

She brought one hand up to straighten her hair while she brought up the other to peer at the chrono on her wrist. A curse escaped her. She was going to be late. Her family was not going to be happy. Or they would tease her about it. Either option was not looking good. She started to jog from her hiding place behind the crates, heading out of the hangar and angling towards the living quarters several kilometers away.

There was a crowd up ahead. No doubt because of the visiting dignitary. Another curse escaped her. She was thankful her father was not here. He would most definitely be displeased with her language. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the crowd, trying to find some way around them.

Discovering that she was unable to find a path by conventional means, she slowed to a walk, and reached out for the Force. It answered her call, falling over her like a warm blanket. A whisper in the back of her mind directed her to a small curving side road that was unoccupied by security detail. Triumph rose within her. It would add on to her journey home but it would still be quicker than waiting for the dignitary to finish speaking.

She started again, at a jog, not fully releasing the Force, as she did so. Instead, she reached out to her parents and felt their slight annoyance, more from her cousin, who appeared to be ravenous, than anyone else. She brushed against their minds and assured them that she would be home soon. That was the basic message at least. She had not achieved the required level of Force control needed for that particular trick yet.

A tendril from the Force told her to stop. She did, skidding around the corner and ended up sliding into the person walking from the opposite direction. They both tumbled down in a flurry of arms, legs, and curses. Her hair was in her eyes along with another person's armpit. Her nose wrinkled in disgust and she shoved the arm away.

"Hey! What was that for?" The voice was definitely male, and from the sound of it he was about her age.

"Sorry, I didn't want to inhale your body odor."

"I don't have any body odor."

"So you don't sweat?"

"What are you talking about? I meant that I don't have any now. There's a difference you know. Also, I would be much obliged if you got the ten gallon bag off my back."

"I would gladly get it off your back if you got off of me."

"Well then, you'll have to get your bag off of me for me to get off of you."

"Fine," she agreed.

"Fine," the teenage boy echoed.

She dragged her bag off of him and he rolled off her before standing. He reached down a hand to help her up, which she gladly accepted. She was busy for the next several moments with straightening her hair and clothes. When she was finished, the boy gave a stiff bow, straightened, and then held out a hand. She shook his hand, looking at him critically.

He had black, short hair styled to appear messy with glass green eyes. His nose appeared to have been broken several times but that only added to the faint reckless look that shone in his eyes detracting nothing from his holostar good looks. He stared down the few inches difference in their height with the same critical expression on his face. Finally, he declared, "Our eyes match."

"No, they don't," she countered. "Mine are a darker green. Much darker."

He nodded his acquiesce to her point. "True. I'm Loryn Fel. Friends call me Catch. Which is what you can call me."

"Maeve Solo. People generally call me Maeve. Nice to meet you."

"You, too."

"I think you can stop shaking my hand now."

"Hmm? Oh, right, sorry." He released her hand but didn't move on his way.

They stood for several moments in an awkward silence. Finally, she pointed to the direction she had previously been heading and said, "I ahh… need to go this way. Umm… bye."

She took a few steps before he caught up with her, running around to block her path. "Wait! Can I come, too? To walk you wherever you're going? Please?"

"Sure," she answered uncertainly.

Had she realized that she would have earned herself a companion for the years to come, she might have shot him down. But as it was, she's quite content with the way things turned out.

Fin

Get it? It's Jaina and Zekk's daughter with Jag and some other person's son. See, I thought out the whole Force-sensitive, brown-haired, Fel emperor thing. I need to get a life. Hope you enjoyed it. The story was rather plot less but hopefully that didn't bother anyone too much. By the way, the title overloaded and broke my cheese meter because 1) I ripped it from "Duel of Fates" and 2) It's one of the corniest things I've ever heard.