A/N: As I said on my profile page, I have a real hard time writing one-shots. More always begs to be said, and thusly Part II came to life. This is still a light-hearted family oriented story. But this is also me doing the writing, so it's going to have it's fair share of action/adventure/drama. I hope you all enjoy. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

There was dreck-all to do on the Death Star. I came to that conclusion after my second day as its newest citizen.

My first day had been a flurry of the most boring activity I had ever encountered. First thing in the morning, Conan roused me for breakfast with him, saying something about how I needed to adjust myself to the "day/night" routine of the station. Apparently the planet I came from had a six hour difference in its rotation of day and night, so in essence he was rousing me at my 1am to have breakfast at his 6am. All I remember from that meal was the spread. It was lovely, I was forced to admit, with fresh fruits and pastries and breads that I hadn't even had the privilege of enjoying when I was planetside. I guess being second-in-command of this place came with a decent set of benefits.

I started to exhibit some semblance of awareness as he escorted me down to medical—where I underwent nearly every test known to man and alien. Four hours and several inoculations later, I was certified healthy and awake and acceptable as a resident of this space station. One would think that that was enough of an excitement for one day. But, oh no, there was more.

After being poked, prodded, and immunized, Conan met me at the door and I accompanied him to his office. His aide, a man named Major Dixon Fehr, pretty much did the same thing to my background that Medical had done to my body. I sat in the chair across from his desk and answered his questions to the best of my ability. This was more difficult than it should have been, given that during the course of my interview my head started to feel heavier than it had when I'd woken up. I kept nodding off between questions, and the ones that I'd managed to answer I did so without thinking. Which was dangerous. Seriously dangerous. Being a Motti wasn't protection from ISB if I happened to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Major Fehr seemed amused at my lack of ability to concentrate. If I had had the energy, I would have smacked him for it. Officer or no, I wasn't about to let anyone leer at me in that condescending way. When he started to laugh, I realized that I'd said that portion out loud. What was wrong with me? I'd drank a gallon of caf at breakfast just to keep up with conversation. At this point, I should have been bouncing off the proverbial walls, unable to sit still for a moment.

I didn't feel it when Major Fehr's hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up to his. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard him slide his chair backwards or come around the desk. Even worse, I hadn't felt it when I'd folded my arms on his desk and laid my head down on them.

"Wha…" I tried, my voice all thick and slurred. "I don't… Don't touch… me."

He wasn't exactly leering anymore, though he did seem amused as could be. Which was worse than leering in my opinion.

"Be at ease, Jentessa. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Easy… for you to… say. Why… why am I… lemme go."

His eyebrows lifted in mock-offense. "What kind of an officer would I be if I left an esteemed member of a Core Family in such dire straits?" He continued, the laughter barely hidden in his voice. "The answer to your question, Miss Motti, is that your inoculations are finally catching up with you."

I tried to shake my head, and then remembered that I couldn't because his hand was on my chin. Trying to pull back didn't improve my situation. "What… in..innn… 'culations…"

That time he didn't bother to hide his laugh. "Every officer on this station, indeed every dignitary with need for an extended stay, must undergo the same inoculations against diseases and viral infections. The chemicals can have a strong effect on those with genetically weakened systems."

Genetically what? I wanted to scream at him that I was as fit as any officer on this station. The only reason I wasn't as strong as Fehr right now was because… and then it sank in. Oh, joy. He was referring to my being a woman rather than a man, implying that I was genetically inferior to him by virtue of that alone. He was just like my brother. Conan, like most of the chauvinistic idiots that ran the Empire, believed that women had no place in politics, government, and especially military command.

Yet another one of the reasons why I had run away rather than marry Count Averstan. He was just as bad as this Major.

Not that my brother was a bad person, mind you. He treated his wife like she was made of gold, practically worshiped the ground she walked on. And his daughter? She was the bright center of his universe. My niece and sister-in-law lacked for nothing, lived in lavish apartments on Imperial Center and enjoyed every excess that wealth and privilege could provide. The fact that I was currently draped in a dress that cost more than I made in a standard year as a law clerk was proof enough that he did not hate women. He just believed that they had their place in the galaxy just as men did.

And that place was not in command.

Was it wrong of me to hate this man for the very things I excused in Conan? Probably. But I never claimed to be perfect. I left that up to people like the Emperor. I was just about to tell him as much when his hand vanished and I nearly fell forward out of the chair. A new hand appeared on my body, landing on my shoulder and gently pushing me back into my seat. This hand was warm, gentle, though calloused enough to let me know its owner probably knew how to handle himself.

"I trust there is a logical explanation as to why you have your hands on Miss Motti, Major Fehr."

That definitely wasn't a question. It was a demand if I'd ever heard one. A demand delivered with enough frost to make deep space seem warm and cozy in comparison.

"Certainly, sir," the Major answered swiftly. A little too swiftly. "Admiral Motti left her in my care. I noted that Miss Motti appeared to be reacting poorly to the inoculations and was about to faint. I wasn't about to let her fall to the floor."

"And I suppose grasping her chin like that was better than, say, an appropriate touch to the shoulder or wrist?" my would-be savior asked.

"She tilted quickly, sir," answered Fehr. "I had very little time to react."

"I see. I'm sure the Admiral will take great joy in knowing he can trust you with his most precious possession. Though do try to improve on your reflexes, especially where you grasp."

"Yes, sir," Fehr bit out, sounding as if he wanted to say anything but the polite and proper reply.

The world had stopped spinning long enough for me to glance upward, wanting to put a face with the hand now touching me. I blinked up blearily into the face of the last man I'd ever expect to come to my rescue.

General Cassio Tagge, third in command of the Death Star, kept one arm around my shoulders as the decks whizzed by. I was grateful of that, as his strength was the only thing that kept my feet from sliding out from under me. Still, a part of my mind was active enough to wonder just what this aid was going to cost me. He was a Tagge and I was a Motti, and historically our two powerful families had never gotten along—for any reason. There was a story that, back in the days of the Old Republic, my great grandfather eight times removed and his great grandmother of the same distance away in his ancestry, had stood in the center of the Senate building and argued about what color the building, itself, was.

In view of the ENTIRE SENATE in FULL SESSION!

Even the elected Chancellor at the time hadn't been able to silence the two. They had been allowed to float there in the air, screaming at each other until they were purple in the face (or as one claimed the color was indigo while the other said it was purple!), until the session literally ran out of time. No one remembered just what had touched off the initial feud between our two families. It was enough to know that a Motti wouldn't urinate on a Tagge if he was on fire, and a Tagge would rather space a planet's worth of food than give a scrap of it to a Motti.

I personally considered it a mark of just how powerful the Emperor was that His Majesty had managed to arrange for a Motti and a Tagge to co-rule this battle station in peace. Though I suspect that my uncle also had some say in that matter. Just thinking of my Uncle made me want to give in to what my body was telling me and pass out.

"I…" I tried again, feebly. "Gen…gen'ral Taa… Sir, where… I…"

My head fell forward on the stretchy cord that was my neck, landing on the solid wall of his chest. He allowed it, going so far as to adjust my head so that I wasn't suffocating against the fabric of his uniform. But it wasn't a suggestive move like I would have expected from Major Fehr. It wasn't much of anything, truth be told. Just a gentleman's grace in making certain a lady of worth wasn't injured.

"I am taking you someplace safe, Miss Motti," he replied neutrally. "Your brother has been called to attend to a fleet matter, otherwise he would have shown up to collect you."

I blinked, seeing nothing but the expanse of his chest beneath that olive drab uniform. "Con's… rooms…"

"I'm afraid I don't have access to his quarters, Miss. I have arranged for a place where you can recover yourself and for guards to protect you during your rest."

"Why…"

He glanced down at me. I could feel it in the shifting of the fabric beneath my cheek. "Whatever the issues between myself and Conan, they are not your affair," he said quietly. "Regardless of what you may think, Jentessa Motti, I will not use you as a pawn in a game between us."

"Good…" I replied, again, without thinking. "Hate pol'tics. I'm horr-oorr—bably at it."

I felt him chuckle, felt the rumble in his chest as a soothing counterpoint to the strong beat of his heart. "I know, Jentessa. I remember well our days together at secondary school. In fact, you seem to speak just as eloquently now as you did back then."

I couldn't believe it, but a chuckle of my own escaped my lips. "You're still… as arr'gant… as you … then."

I followed that stunning bit of witty conversation with a fake pummel of a fist against his shoulder. Which netted me another chuckle from him for my efforts. Yes, I had to admit that he was still the same arrogant, sharp-witted boy beneath the stolid iron-faced man he'd become. We'd only shared a scant year together in secondary school, me entering and him graduating. But it had been enough to get a bead on his personality then. Unlike the rest of the Tagge clan, most especially unlike that horrific rancor-faced Domina Tagge, he'd been marginally tolerable. So much so that I hadn't objected to dancing with him at his graduation gala.

Cassio Tagge may not have been the most attractive boy at the school, but there had been something about him, something in that darkly brooding face that was just shy of being devastatingly attractive, that made him worth noticing.

He was also the best dancer I'd ever had the pleasure of sharing a waltz. Though right now I felt as if I was doing that all over again. The lift was just spinning and spinning and spin…

"Easy, Tessa," Cassio said, shifting his arm more securely down to my waist as I nearly tumbled from his arms. "I take it you have never undergone Imperial Immunization before."

"N… no. Is that… why I'm… ummm…"

"Yes, that is exactly why. It's a heavy dose of antibiotics, normally reserved for those deployed planet-side for extended periods. It's affectionately referred to as the 'stormtrooper special.' Moff Tarkin insisted that everyone follow that protocol if they wish to remain aboard the Death Star. Like any other station or ship, a sickness can run rampant through the crew before we know it due to the recycled air."

"Oh." Yes, that was about as far as I could get. A single word. To a Tagge of all people. Conan was going to simply loose his mind over this. "Thank you."

"Whatever for, Miss Motti?"

"Tessa. Call me… Tessa, please. 'nough people call me Misssss Mot-tti."

The world tilted again and I found my head back on his chest, grateful for the warmth and the sound of his heartbeat. He chuckled again. "You're welcome, Tessa. Though in public, I will address you as proper. Just as you will address me as General Tagge."

I felt myself smirk. "Only if you… des'rve it. You're a Taggge. I'm a… a…"

"Hot mess?"

I attempted to bap him again. And missed. It felt as if my body was simultaneously weighing a thousand pounds and yet turning into air. His arm around my waist became stronger and I closed my eyes, giggling at the sensation, at his retort.

"Don't make me… like you. Con will… have a… stroke."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

The lift doors parted. I could tell as I felt the whoosh of air. But that was the last thing I could tell before darkness swallowed me whole.