this is a disclaimer.
AN: probably part of the swallows and amazons verse, because just about everything I write post-ROTJ is, but it stands alone.
along the light of day
Mara can't tell what woke her, but she doesn't even need to open her eyes all the way to tell that she's very, very late. Golden sunshine falling on her face means it's after dawn, which means she's late.
She's lying on her front with her face mostly mashed into the pillow; it takes a moment to free her arm from the twisted sheets to grope for the chrono on the bedside table. Damage control.
As far as her fingers can tell, there's nothing there. She groans quietly; a hazy, dreamlike memory is surfacing of being woken earlier on by the damn thing and pushing it off the table top – did she really – it's not even hers.
Oh well. Judging by the way Luke's shifting against her, burrowing deeper into the covers and tossing an arm across her lower back, he won't care.
"Farmboy," she says in a muffled voice.
"Mara."
"I'm late."
"S'past ten."
She knocks on the bedside table with her clenched fist. "How can you tell?"
"Sun never hits the bed till after ten."
"Oh." Mara shifts herself, twisting over to mould her body against Luke's. He smells awfully good, like clean sheets and sweat and musk, and he wraps his arms around her, heavy and warm. She shakes her head so her hair falls into her eyes and blocks out the sun.
"You realise I'm a dead woman now, Skywalker. Dead and unemployed."
Luke snorts. "Poor girl."
"Karrde said –"
"Karrde'll live. You've just been ill, don't forget."
Mara sighs. It's all too true. Falling ill was not an experience she'd been afforded at the Imperial Palace: if she caught something as a child, she'd usually just pushed on and ignored it. If it wasn't life-threatening, it couldn't be permitted to interfere in the Emperor's business.
But when she'd caught the flu last week, Luke had been scandalised at the mere idea of his Mara doing any such thing, and despite the fact that there were all sorts of things she'd rather do with him in bed than eat chicken soup and have him take her temperature, that was how she'd spent the last few days.
Still, she'd meant to get up and pack and be gone by breakfast time this morning, but now...
"And if we make it outta bed in time for lunch downstairs your sister will spend the entire meal smirking at me," she adds.
"Leia smirks extremely well."
"She and Solo are perfectly matched."
"Course, we could skip lunch."
Mara groans again. The bed is comfortable and the covers are soft and Luke is all wiry strength and welcoming heat at her back and making love to him in the bright morning sunlight is one of her favourite things to do on any day, with the beams warming their skin and making his eyes sparkle, bringing out all the gold highlights in his darkening hair. In the mornings she can see his stubble and his scars, slightly paler than his tan; she can tilt her head back and close her eyes against the brightness and feel him kiss her neck and cocoon herself in everything that's bright and beautiful and them.
But the trouble is, she's got work to do.
And so has he.
He strokes his hand down her side and kisses her shoulder. "Well, come on then. If you think I'm climbing over you to get to the shower..."
She laughs and scrambles out of bed.
They shower together, quickly but cheerfully, and afterwards Luke makes caf in the kitchen while Mara roams through his apartment trying to gather up all her things.
"Stang, stang, and kriff it. Where's my – ah. And – Luke, what's – oh, never mind. But the – hah! Hang on, how many – Farmboy! No, I've got it."
"You talk a lot more than you used to," he says suddenly.
Mara pauses, caf mug in one hand, a lone boot in the other. "I. Hadn't noticed?"
"I wasn't complaining. Just – you talk more."
"I haven't tried to kill you in a while, either."
He smiles. "I noticed. Believe me, I noticed."
Mara smiles, albeit hesitantly, frowns briefly into her mug and then says, "Toothbrush!" and darts off.
Luke leans sideways to rest his shoulder against the doorframe – he's still shirtless, and barefoot – and watches her rummaging through the bathroom.
"Have I asked you to marry me yet?"
Mara doesn't pause. "I assumed you were holding back out of consideration for my ill-health."
"I must have forgotten."
She chuckles. "You never forget to propose to me."
Luke smiles. "One day," he says, "you'll say yes."
Now she pauses, hand hovering over her toothbrush. "I don't know," she says at last. "I just. I don't know, Luke." She turns to look at him, slightly worried cast to her features now, biting down on her bottom lip: it's a gesture of Mirax's that she has a way of imitating. Mara imitates people's gestures a lot, and completely unconsciously, picking up on the movements of their hands and the way they tilt their heads and copying it with the same ease and for the same reason that she adjusts her accent in Standard: to fit in, to be overlooked.
She never notices when someone else's gesture becomes her own, but Luke does.
"Am I making you unhappy?" she asks bluntly. "With this marrying thing? Or this not-marrying thing, rather."
He blinks. Of all the questions! "No, of course not."
"Of course not."
"I love you," he says. "You love me. I'd like to marry you. But that's not – that's not the point. If that makes sense. I'm not –" suddenly he grins, gleefully "- I'm not pining for you, you know, crying into my pillows every night because you won't become my wife and prove to the galaxy how much –"
His own toothbrush hits him in the chest, and he flings his head back and laughs – not for very long, but somehow she's standing in front of him with her bag packed and zipped up and slung over her shoulder when he's done.
Probably used the Force.
"I don't want," she says, "to make you unhappy."
Luke meets her eyes steadily. "You're not," he says. "I don't actually think you ever could."
Mara considers this.
Nods, once.
Puts her empty caf mug in his empty hand and wraps hers around the back of his neck.
"Well then," she says, and kisses him: slowly, and very thoroughly, and for a very long time.
"I'll see you in a month or so," she says at last.
Luke's eyes blink open, looking rather disoriented. He clears his throat, and her grin widens.
"Don't get shot at while I'm gone, Skywalker."
He kisses her, briefly, fiercely, full of promise. "Come home safe, Jade."