A/N: I don't own Star Wars.

I wanted him.

I needed him.

He was my brother, my twin, and we had never been apart before. Never.

We had even been together even before we were born.

But now, these- these people- in blue gowns and blue masks were telling me I couldn't. Not until I was better, because Luke was currently living with our aunt and uncle, who lived ten hours away, and couldn't be bothered to visit. I wanted to scream, to tell them that if I was to get better, seeing Luke was a step of the process.

But I couldn't. I couldn't speak. I could cry, but that was it.

The doctor said my vocal cords were fine, that there was nothing wrong with that, that I could speak if I chose to. It was a conscious effort on my part, he stated, not bothering to look at me, talking to the nurses in the room as if I wasn't even there.

He didn't know anything.

To say the least, we weren't exactly friends.

My lack of speech had never mattered before. Luke spoke enough for the both us, possibly even more. He always knew if I wanted something. And we even figured out ways to play games when we were little. House, twenty questions, (even if I was never the questioner), and of course, hide-and-seek, and tag, although those two were easy.

I hated the hospital, and everything about it. The hardness of the bed, the doctors constantly waking me up in the night, the terrible food, the smell.

And the ache in my heart.

When Luke and I went to the doctor, after my father's friend found us, they said that I was perfectly healthy.

Except, the beat of my heart was off.

And the next thing I knew, I had a severe hurt murmur, the valves in my heart were leaking, and I was being sent to the hospital for open hurt surgery.

It was not exactly a pleasant experience.

For one, I had absolutely no idea what was going on. No one bothered to explain anything to me. I guess that they thought it wouldn't matter, because I couldn't speak, and therefore, was not a priority.

Luke tried to tell me what was going on, but the doctors made him leave the room. I only vaguely understood what was happening, because of bits of conversation I heard from the nurses.

I started freaking out, and they had to put on restraints to keep me down.

Two, by the time I woke up, Luke was in the custody of my father's stepbrother. In Arizona. And they didn't volunteer to take me.

So I was basically stuck in the hospital. Until I got better, and social services found me a nice, caring family.

I wanted my brother so badly.

My mother, Padme Amidala Skywalker, giving birth to my brother and I. I don't remember anything about her, except that she was very beautiful, but very sad.

After her death, my father, Anakin Skywalker, raised us.

At least, he tried his best.

Once a month, my father gave me money, so that I could walk to the store and buy groceries. Luke always came, even though he didn't have to. I think he was worried about what would happen if someone asked me a question, and he wasn't there to answer for me.

Luke worried a lot, about anything and everything. He worried about not enough rain, too much snow, me losing my library books so that we would have to pay for them, and more.

Luke liked to talk to me about all that, because I was a good listener. To be fair, I sometimes forgot to listen.

Sometimes, Luke's jabbering would get repetitive, so I would glare at him, and he quieted down.

Just because you can't talk doesn't mean you can't give murderous looks.

Once in a great while, my father would drive us to Walmart, and we would be able to buy new clothes and shoes.

But most of the time, he forgot that Luke and I were growing children, and, therefore, would grow out of old things.

Ultimately, we left because my father worked so much.

It all started the year Luke and I turned five. Someone at my father's work asked when we were starting kindergarten. My father thought about that for a while.

"I think I'll homeschool them," he finally decided. After all, his five year old daughter hadn't spoken a word since she was three.

And he sort of remembered to homeschool us.

For the first few years, he was pretty good about buying Luke and I workbooks, and making sure that we checked out books from the library to read. He even had us try ABC mose for a while.

But, after a while, he mostly forgot about reordering workbooks each year. And when he did remember, he always ordered the wrong ones.

Let's just say it's a little hard doing Pre-Calc when you don't know what four and two make.

Luke and I mostly had to teach ourselves, since our dad was almost always at work. Things could get hard, but we knew he loved us, and that was what mattered most.

Eventually, Obi-Wan Kenobi, my dad's lifelong best friend, decided to register us for public school, after seeing the sorry state of our workbooks. He didn't have anything against homeschooling, after all, he had been homeschooled himself.

"I'd like to register Luke and Leia Skywalker," he said into the phone. "Oh, what grade? I, um, I have no idea. Oh, you want them to take an oral test?"

I shook my head 'no,' and raised an eyebrow.

Obi-Wan reddened. "Well, I'm afraid that isn't possible. You see, um, Leia...she...doesn't speak. No, she is not deaf. She just... doesn't speak. She'd do fine in a normal classroom. Same with her brother. Yes, sure, tomorrow works fine,"

He clicked of the phone. "They want you two to come take a written exam to see what grade level you're to be placed in."

Yay. Just what I always wanted.

"All right," said the guidance counselor. "Today, you two are going to be taking an exam to see what grade you should be in. Now, some of the questions may be hard, but..."

I didn't hear her finish, as I had already started the test.

It took me precisely two hours to finish. Luke randomly just filled out bubbles in a pattern that looked nice. He spent twenty it.

As she graded our tests, the guidance counselor frowned.

"All right," she finally said, plastering on a smile. "Why don't you two go wait outside while I talk to your dad. The scores were very... interesting."

Guess who got the better grade.

The person who actually spent her time working?

Nope.

The one who randomly guessed answers? Yep.

Although, to be fair, the guidance counselor said that Luke should be in fourth grade, and that I should be in first. He didn't do that well.

(But he did better than me.)

And, I admit, I sort of cried a little.

I wished that we were rich, and I had a private tutor that always remembered to teach me.

They came in the night. They came without warning.

At precisely six o'clock AM, social services showed up at the door.

Luke immediately started freaking out, like he always did when something unknown happened. I just sat in my bed and stared.

That is, until they brought me downstairs, away from my dad, and started to interview Luke and I.

"Does your father ever hit you?" was the first question.

"No," Luke replied. I shook my head.

"Doesn't your sister talk, boy?" one man asked. I shook my head, looking down.

"No," Luke answered uneasily. "Can we please go back to bed? I'm tired,"

"In a while, sweetheart," a lady answered. "Do you know why your sister doesn't talk?"

Luke shook his head. "I don't remember,"

"Here," said the lady, pushing a piece of paper towards me. "Leia, please write down anything you want to tell us, okay sweetheart? I promise we won't tell anyone."

Taking the piece of paper in my hands, I wrote two words: Go away.

Social Services eventually decided that my father was unfit to be a parent, and they took Luke and I away.

They literally had to drag me away, because I was hugging my father and sobbing. I may have even bit someone.

I was so mad.

When they took us into the foster care place, they realized that Luke and I hadn't had a checkup since age three.

They gave us one as soon as possible, and that was when they found the heart problem.

Then, in my third day of hospitalization, Obi-Wan came to see me. I didn't know it was him at first, because my doctor said that my uncle was here to see me.

"Hi," he muttered, sitting down on the hospital chair next to my bed. "I hear you got heart surgery."

I nodded.

"I talked to Luke on the phone, and he's very worried for you," he continued.

Typical Luke. My Brother, the Worrier. Although, in this case, he was right. Open heart surgery was nothing to joke about.

I pointed to my mouth, hoping he would get my meaning: I wanted to ask him something. My mind was flowing with so many questions, I didn't know where to begin.

Luckily, one of the nicer nurses, Ava, got my meaning, and handed me paper and a pen.

Can Luke visit? I wrote, already knowing the answer, but I had to ask. My writing looked like chicken scribbles.

Obi-Wan shook his head sadly.