Momma Solo.
A formidable woman with messy coils of braided hair who often stood at family meetings, judgmental arms crossed at the elbows. She watched her son govern these meetings with such highly distinguished prestige she wondered if he were her child any more. Is this the little Ben that used to write letters to his cousins, aunts and uncles? The little Ben who used to count the birds that would fly cross the sky and hope that by the thousandth one, that his father would finally show up at the doorstep?
It was his damn fault for dying.
How could he do this to her?
She would wonder, day by day in her secluded homely little office, if returning to England would have been such a good idea. It seemed like a good one, back in her little lake home that'd been a little too peaceful to consider the consequences and reality of a warring world. Of a world she barely remembered.
Alas, a widowed wife in a foreign country had nothing, if not family. And should her son walk away now, she would take fate into her own hands.
Formally known by another name. A name more forgotten. Although adopted as Organa, the Skywalker truly came from her side. Its roots were situated in England, spread and vast, never really having a guild to call their own. To be Skywalker meant that you'd be clever. Cunning. Resourceful. They had fair numbers, but even in that, no real power to contend with in the underground. No real say in a world full of Amidala, Kenobi, and those damned Palpatines. The Palpatines controlled everything.
He figured out what his father was a part of in the greater scheme of things. And for that very reason—he'd been murdered. A future like this was meant for him, or so he believed. And he said that if she wasn't going to be in his life when he does exact his revenge…then so be it.
Then Leave.
She remembered him say. It was so long ago, even his tone of word was still fine-tuned in her mind.
Nevertheless… it molded him. He was a changed man. Was he worse? Was he better? She would never know.
And every time Leia glanced upon her son's beautiful yet weary face, she would see things never once noticed before. The subtle little things like the way his thick brow bones would furrow whenever he would consult to her own advice, the way he concentrated at the consignment papers on his desk, and the way he poised himself before his family with a prideful height and smug look on his face.
Ben was definitely his father's son.
Leia closed her eyes as she heard the heavy pounding of footsteps from the floorboards of the ceiling. It was probably Ben doing something she didn't want him to do. She sighed and sat back in her Windsor chair, choosing set aside her daily business for a time when she was more mentally capable.
/
"Now look." Benjamin watched as Mister Alvey's brown strands were tugged back at the roots. The poor guy. All he could do was watch as the enemy surround his beautiful wife with wide, teary eyes. "We didn't do anything to her. No cuts, bruises. And it'll stay that way as long as you tell me what bigger plan you're a part of. Yeah?"
"I told'cha." His voice was a hushed whisper. It sounded like he was trying to rush the information out of himself in an effort to save his innocent love. But Ben knew there was something else. "It was the Sloggers. They wanna know where you're keeping the booze."
"Go on."
"That's all sir. If you want an apology about what I said earlier than sorry. About the whole American thing." His fidgeting eyes were finally able to center on the tall shadow that was Benjamin Solo. He was a giant intimidation compared to the lesser proportionate room, and certainly when he stood as a wall between him and his wife. "If you want me to give back all the money I stole I will—I will I promise ya." His sounded like a street beggar. Pathetic.
"Keep the fucking money." Ben's voice was a low and rich vibrato. He sounded pleasantly nonchalant and yet his intent indicated otherwise. "I know you've been contacting the Coppers. Setting up your own family—the Sloggers don't know you've been sending word to the law that they're planning to seize our goods. Our goods are illegal. But I'd bet you already know. They'd be arrested for possession and we'd be arrested for attempting to transport the goods to Russia and America. As long you know where it is. You're quite the turncoat. Aren't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. Sir I really—" Mister Alvey shrunk to his knees and he let the tears seize his face uncontrollably. He was a mess, and the Solo wouldn't take any of it.
"You're not smart enough to think of a plan like this yourself. I know you're not." The men around Benjamin were all but quiet, letting the boss have his spotlight. He continued softly, admiring the underhandedness of the situation. "Now tell me. Who. Is."
One of the younger looking guys—surely not weaker—strides on over to the drugged woman and glides a knife against her throat.
"Well?" Ben's sharply contoured face turns aside, the thin stubble a bit less apparent in the dimly secreted room. "Silence brings your wife closer to her death." He hummed, placing a thumbnail-gloved to the tip of incisors. "So now you decide not to be a rat for once in your life? Is money so important to you? You protecting someone?"
"Sir please…I'm not tryin' to protect anyone."
"Certainly not. Looks like we're going to find out if your woman's going to heaven or hell. Ezra. Cut in just a little—"
The mobster just about angled his wrist before being shouted at to stop. Alvey slumped to his feet, arm's still imprisoned by brutish thugs the moment he saw a drip of blood escape the thin membrane of her skin. "Okay. Okay." He panicked. "It was a woman. A Kenobi. The Kenobis set this all up—they're in with the Coppers."
"A woman?" His words at that moment were solely for contemplation. He crouched to head level with the pitiful excuse for a human being and tilted his head. "What woman?"
"The Cock's all about being in line with the Law ya know? She ain't the head if ya wondering."
"She couldn't be." Mister Solo reaffirmed in a deep murmur. He made a soft chuckle through his nose, blinking a bit more than usual, and shook his head. His absent brown eyes lingered on the man as if were formulating a plan. "Alvey. Care to strike deal?"
"Deal?"
"Yeah. A deal." Ben assumed his height and signaled for his men to force the turncoat to follow suit. Alvey was harshly dragged up by the crook of his armpits and left to waver on his wobbly legs. "You know. They were probably going to send you to the slammer once you did the dirty work. Or shot you while you slept. Or stabbed and hung you by the toes until you bled out. Does that sound like a happy ending to you?"
"No sir."
"Good." He sternly replied and let a satisfied smile emerge. He was frightened at the prospect of his life being in danger despite the Coppers seemingly siding with him. He was going to manipulate Alvey into doing his own dirty work. "Now when I send you back to whatever Godforsaken hole you crawled out of, I want you to act like nothing changed. You're still an agent of the Law. Not a very good one I should say but do your best. Be convincing."
"Now why should I do that?"
"Miser Alvey, surely you've thought this over by now? They'll realize you've grassed 'em. Now this woman who's giving you orders…who is she?"
"Never gave me a name sir. I would point her out but she always wears them big coats and hats. Always different every time I see her…can't even tell ya what her hands look like."
"But you've had to have seen her eyes? Know how she sounds like? She's giving orders and she's got a voice. You should be able to point her out. Shouldn't you?"
"Hope she's a pretty one," Finn interjected. "She an old hag? A fresh plum?"
"She seemed young sir. First time I heard her think I fell in love. All cute and peachy. Had a hard time taking her seriously and I still followed her orders like a dog. Bet you would too."
"You should be glad your wife's not awake." A curly haired Jaiden interrupted. He was Ben's cousin. The Skywalker side. Luke's oldest kid. He snuck in another swift pounding to the stomach, to which Alvey winced and grunted in pain. "Quit draggin' your feet and tell us where the damned woman is."
"Can't tell ya where she is…but I can tell ya she's got the prettiest eyes I've ever seen." He gasped between the recurrent throbbings of pain. "Brown and green. When she looks at ya…trust me. Ya know when ya see her."
"I'll take your word for it Mister Alvey." Ben's low voice, guttural and soothing was all he could hear before being socked on the head.
/
An easily fretful woman made large strides in the streets of Birmingham. She was neatly wrapped in a black woolen coat, black gloves, black heels clacking against the graveled roads, and brown hair neatly arranged underneath her broad-brimmed black hat.
There were too many deaths and one too many loving granddaughters to mourn for them.
She shuddered and made haste to the cemetery.
Guys, if this isn't an interesting AU, I don't think I'll continue it. I just want to know if it's worth writing and wasting me time. Yeah?
I'm trying to frantically do research so I don't get anything wrong. If I do, let me know!