Title: Lift Not the Painted Veil

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairings: Luke/Mara

Timeframe: AU

Summary: Sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people.

A/N: The title is from the Shelley poem, the tagline is from the Edward Norton/Naiomi Watts film.

Sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people

Chapter 1

"Uncle Luke!"

He'd barely made it through the door before being bowled over by three pre-pubescents evidently intent on knocking the wind out of him. Luke gave an inelegant "Oomph" as he fell backwards where, luckily, the door had slid shut behind him.

Jacen, tugging on his arm, Jaina, with her arms around his waist, and Anakin, attached firmly to his left leg, all began speaking at once and Luke couldn't make out a single word from any of them.

"Slow down," he tried to tell them, "one at a time."

But they simply talked faster and louder in an obvious attempt to be heard over each other and Luke sighed in exasperation. All of the power of the Force at his disposal, and he couldn't manage three children.

"Alright, alright." He was saved by a familiar voice and Luke was relieved to see Han appear. "Little worked up, aren't they kid?" Han grinned at him as he worked to extract his children's death grips on Luke.

"What do you do, feed them pure sucra?" Luke asked as he unwound Anakin's finger's from his knee, and gave the boy a fond pat on the head.

"You wish," Han picked Jaina up and held her high in the air, making her squeal with delight. "That's pure Solo tenacity."

"It's something pure Solo something, alright," Luke joked as Jacen tugged at his father's arm, demanding to be picked up as well.

"Better than Skywalker shrillness," Han shot back as he put down Jaina and lifted up Jacen. "Erg," he grunted, "you kids are getting too big for this." He put Jacen back on the ground and ruffled his hair. "Now you terrors go amuse yourselves with those model ships and if you're lucky, Uncle Luke will come and have a look at them."

Given their mission, the three children saluted their father and rushed towards their shared playroom, Han shaking his head as he watched them go.

"You know sometimes, Luke, I miss the good old quiet days of the Rebellion," he said, although a smirk played across his mouth. "Peace and quiet, just a battle now and then, the Empire knocking at our doors every other day...it was serenity itself."

But Luke's eyes were still on the door to the playroom, which had shut behind his niece and nephews. "You wouldn't trade it for the universe, though," he told him. "You're lucky," he added wistfully.

Han gave him an odd look, almost as if he wanted to say something, but evidently checked himself. "Yep," he agreed. "That I am." He cleared his throat and patted Luke firmly on the back. "So I see you've put in an effort for the shindig tonight," Han continued, giving Luke's wardrobe a sarcastic appraisal.

Luke glanced down at his Jedi robes and shrugged. "The invitation said formal. This is formal attire."

"Oh, kid," Han said mockingly. "So close and yet so far."

"It's not like you're making any bold fashion choices," Luke rejoined defensively. "Isn't that the same outfit you wore to your wedding?"

"Hey," Han scowled, "these are new pants!"

"And even to get him to buy those was a struggle previously unknown to humankind," Leia said as she breezed in, ever the epitome of grace in a flowing white gown that Luke felt briefly ashamed of his Jedi robes - and the small hole he knew was in the sleeve and was certain Leia had already noticed. But she gave him a kiss on the cheek and said; "You look fine, Luke," brushing an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder.

"Fine," Han repeated. "Not 'good' or 'nice' – fine. That's Chief-of-State speak for you look awful and are an embarrassment to the family name"

"In that case, you look fine, too," Leia shot back, but couldn't keep the warm smile off her face. Han gave a mock laugh, and they continued to banter while Luke, as always, was left as a mere spectator. More often than not, he was sure that they quite forgot he was even there, and while he was overjoyed to see his sister and best friend so happy and still in love, it brought his abject loneliness to the fore. And he couldn't deny that there was ever the slightest twinge of jealously at their obvious happiness and the love and affection that came so easily to them.

"So, have you told him?" Leia asked Han, evidently remembering her brother was in the room.

Han looked uncomfortable. "I thought you could."

Leia clucked her tongue in evident disappointment. "You always make me break the bad news."

"Not always," Han argued. "Remember than time I had to be the one to tell you the New Alderaan Raiders lost the smashball finals?"

Leia sighed. "Just tell him." And she breezed out of the room again.

"She's still bitter about that game," Han told him softly, out of Leia's hearing.

"Right." Luke shrugged expectantly. "So what is the bad news."

Han cleared his throat again. "Well, you know this Gala tonight, or whatever in the Nine Corellian Hells it is..."

"Yes," Luke nodded, "the reason why I'm standing here in your living room and not back at the Jedi Academy doing something useful...the Gala that Leia told me under penalty of death that I must attend."

"Yeah, well, Leia was looking over the final guest list, and...well..." Han clearly didn't want to say it, and cleared his throat a third time.

"Just tell me." Luke was beginning to get irritated.

"Okay," Han said. "Like I said, the guest list, and we didn't notice until today, otherwise we would have said something earlier..."

"Han," Luke said warningly.

"Mara will be there," Han finally said in a rush.

"Oh."

There was a long silence while Han cleared his throat uncomfortably and Luke tried to ignore how irritating the sound of it was. "Luke?" Han asked eventually. "Are you alright?"

Luke shook away his thoughts. "Of course I'm alright," he told Han, and smiled. "I don't know why you were so worried, that's not bad news – that's no news at all."

Han didn't look convinced. "You know Luke, it's okay to be upset-"

"I'm not upset," Luke cut him off.

"Well," Han didn't look any les uneasy, "I'm just saying if it was my ex-wife who showed up at some big important event with all the holopress in attendance and I hadn't seen her for three years, I'd be a little anxious."

"Well I'm not," Luke shrugged. "I don't care if Mara's there – I don't have to speak to her."

Leia breezed back in and appeared at Han's side. "Are you okay, Luke?" she asked, and the pitying look she gave him made him feel ill.

"I'm fine," he told them firmly. "Really." He ran a hand through his hair and calmed himself. They're only trying to help, he acknowledged rationally. "Leia, you look lovely," he changed the subject.

"Thank you," she smiled and adjusted the silver earrings she had evidently left earlier to put on, clearly not at all fooled.

"I don't know how you do it," he continued. "Weren't you at the Senate all day?"

"She's like a duck," Han said proudly. "Smooth on the surface," he continued, and broadly gestured to Leia serene countenance, "but working furiously below ." He tapped her on the temple.

Luke smiled, at almost forgotten memory. "What's a duck?"

Leia raised a quizzical eyebrow, although she gave a sidelong glance at her husband which indicated she was not best pleased with his analogy.

"Sorry," Luke waved a dismissive hand. "Private joke."

Leia nodded, clearly not understanding, and obviously about to work her way back to the previous conversation.

"If you'll excuse me for a minute before we leave," Luke cut her off before she could speak. "I believe I have some model ships to inspect."

Two hours into the Gala, and Luke was bored out of his mind. As Leia so often pointed out, he wouldn't be so bored if he made an effort to talk to people, but Luke hated small talk at the best of times. He certainly wasn't in the mood for it tonight. He'd spent the evening seated at his designated table, studiously avoiding conversation with dignitaries and staying out of range of the holopress - and so far he'd been successful.

"Hello, Luke."

Typical, Luke thought, not even needed to glance up – he would know that crisp Coruscanti accent anywhere. "Hello Mara."

She didn't say anything else, and so Luke kept his eyes fixed on his hands that were clasped and resting on the table in front of him. There was silence for several moments, although Luke could sense that she didn't move away. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and he looked up.

Mara stood next to his chair, one hand resting on her hip, the other holding a glass of whiskey – Corellian, he remembered, was the one she favoured. She looked exactly the same as the last time he'd seen her, three years earlier, on the day their divorce had become final. He remembered signing the datapad containing the documentation, and feeling with each bitter stroke of the stylus the finality of it all. Mara had looked at him then, in the eyes, and nodded – perhaps in thanks, he wasn't sure – signed her own name and then left.

Luke looked back down at his hands without speaking.

There were another few moments of silence, before Mara finally spoke. "It's good to see you, Luke."

Luke. When they'd been married, it had always been Skywalker or Farmboy – there'd been such tenderness in those names. Luke was so formal.

When he didn't answer, Mara gave an irritated sigh. "You're not even going to be civil?"

"I am civilly ignoring you."

"I see." Mara took a seat next to him, clearly not going to let him get away that easy. She stared at him until he felt worn down by her gaze.

He relented, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms crossly and returning her sharp gaze. "Why are you here, Mara?"

"The anniversary of the peace accord between the New Republic and Imperial Remnant?" Mara shrugged. "It seemed to be right for me to be here."

"Reconciliation, and all that," Luke nodded. "I suppose there's irony in there somewhere."

"I suppose." She glanced down at his side where his lightsaber hung, clearly visible outside his Jedi robes. "Although it hardly seems fair," she gave him a slight smile. "I am unarmed and therefore at a disadvantage."

"No blaster hidden away up your sleeve?" he asked. "You're getting lax."

"Not really," she told him. "They checked all weapons at the door – full body scans."

"Ah." He indicated his lightsaber. "Ceremonial weapon, you see."

"One of the perks of Jedihood...or is it Jedi-dom?" she smirked, as always finding some way to cast derision on his lifestyle.

"You made your choice," he retorted shortly.

Mara visibly bristled, but evidently shook any annoyance off quickly. "Yes, the choice not to spend hours meditating on the meaning of what it is to be such a special snowflake," she said teasingly. "Or contemplating a spukamas cat's thoughts of the universe?"

He clamped down on the smile that was forming. "Go away, Mara," he told her. He'd be damned if he'd allow himself to be charmed by her and forget the bitter arguments, the long, cold silences, and finally, her unwillingness to even try and find a solution, ending in callous abandonment.

"Fine," she shrugged, but couldn't hide her irritation. "I'll leave you to your bitterness," she left as a parting shot as she walked away.

Luke raised a glass of his untouched ale to her retreating form. "Here's to another three years."