High Flying, Adored

Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: See chapter nine.

Author's Note: OMG, I'm updating! Also, as a note, guys, while I do love all your support, one word isn't all that helpful. I'd rather hear something you didn't like about it than one word of what you did. Constructive criticism is okay, I promise.

Healing Hands: I'm so sorry it took so long :(

wAcKaMoLe911: It is supposed to be a bit of a confusing fic, so I hope that's not throwing you off too bad.

Encarna: All cliffhangers are nasty.

ILDV: Thanks

yojorocks: Thank you, that's always the trick, to bring out the humanity.

Willow-Bee the Cat: Thank you

PadFootCc: Well, I don't know how humanly possible it was, but I updated )

JadeTakashi: Thank you, I'm very glad it's interesting!

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Now it begins, now we start

One hand, one heart.

West Side Story

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She was such a little thing! Oh so very little, it shocked him; that anything that small could send such a powerful cry through the Force was amazing.

He was a well trained Jedi, and did not hesitate to act at the even more shocking sight of what was happening to that little girl.

The ugly, brute of an alien had her pinned against the wall as she struggled and screamed and cursed the way little girls ought not to do, and a weaker man might have afterwards trembled and vomited at the thought of what the creature had wanted from the little thing.

But he had acted, and the thing had fled minus an arm (he would just as soon made it the gentiles he would have used against that little girl) and been about to scoop up the child and make sure she remained uninjured, but she'd pressed herself against the ally wall like a tiger, hissing and ready to defend herself.

Such a scrappy little thing! Saved from utter abuse and yet she did not trust her rescuer. She might have been five, and if so, was a very, very small five. Anakin had been a small nine, he was used to such sights. Luke had not been.

"It's alright," he promised, radiating soothing feelings through the Force and merely serving to confuse the child. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Go away," she growled, knowing she could not really tangle against the man who had beat someone so much bigger than her. So her spat entreaty was all she had. "Go away!"

"What's your name?"

"Go away!"

"That's not much of a name." She swore again – this thing was not a lady – and he even more gently asked, "How old are you?"

"I'm seven," she responded, seeing no harm in that, but he did not believe her for a second.

"You are not seven. When were you born." She listed the date that she obviously had difficulty remembering and he replied, "Your math's wrong, you're five."

"I'm seven," she reasserted. "When you're seven you can get a job carrying tools for repairmen. I'm seven."

He paused, hearing those looming Storm Troopers, and shielded their presence nervously. "Never mind," he hissed. "We'll discuss it later." He looked at the vibrant, red little creature, considered her power, considered how he'd given up Luke to save her. "Are you hungry?" he asked, knowing no other way to make her trust him.

Her eyes lit up then, and it appeared she was hungry, too hungry to refuse the generosity. He gently beckoned to her and she reluctantly came to him. The dirty, thin, red little child. "I'm Mara," she said matter-of-factly.

"Pleased to meet you, Mara."

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"Hail, Imperator." He said it with a near mocking quality to his voice. Luke's eyes narrowed. "The Ralcorp Daily News Service has a few questions for you."

Sovereign Emperor Luke Skywalker slowly sank into his throne, not his father's and not Palpatine's. The reporter before him was of the humanoid type and as slick as grease. Everything about him was, to the business suit he wore that merely made him look like a rich sleaze, to the thick, slimy accent that whispered over all his words. Ralcorp was the biggest news service on Coruscant, if not the Empire itself, and it had made or broken many a politician through its news services – its often distorted news services. It could push and boss more people around than nearly any other private company, excluding Black Sun. And now it was making the mistake of thinking it could push the emperor.

The reigning Imperator was legally emperor upon his father's death. However, he could not be crowned until after his father's ceremony, and when things were thin and ties hard to come by, that was the time as a leech to strike.

"Questions?" The Emperor had gotten thinner, more haggard looking, and his general staff was grateful for the now Empress' return; without her controlling, healthful influence, it was doubtful whether their new lord and master wouldn't have wasted away even more. The reporter nodded at the affirmation. "Then why," he asked, leaning indolently back and looking contemptuously at that which stood before him, "wasn't Ralcorp Daily News Service at the press conference I gave?"

"We're a busy company. Things to do."

"And I'm a busy man. You are excused, sir-"

"Now just hold your horses!" Luke's temper flared. The alien shifted his stance. "This'll only take a minute."

"Excuse me?"

"We want the full back story on your father and his death. We want to know if there's substance behind the rumors he was once the Jedi Anakin Skywalker. There's scandal waiting behind this, Emperor Skywalker."

"Scandal?" he growled, standing again and looming ominously about the man. "I may not be in the habit of Force choking people the way my father was, but I could certainly make an exception for you. You may leave."

"You haven't answered our questions." The four, dark blue eyes of the alien peered at the master of the universe from their corners. "You'd hate to have us say something nasty when your reign has just started, wouldn't you?"

Luke's temper snapped, and he physically picked up the greasy reporter. "Do you think I'm just anyone?" he snarled, dragging him to his chamber doors. "Get out," he growled. "Get out before I beat you out! What I said before applies to everyone, no exceptions. We live in an equal society." If the reporter had wanted to stay, the Imperial Guards stepping up advised him otherwise, and he slunk out as Mara walked in.

"What on earth was that?" she asked, watching the grumbling man go, feeling the anger roll off her husband. Luke had declared all holonet services closed from now until after his father's funeral, and while most had muttered quietly and accepted it, Ralcorp and the big dogs had not. It was another thing to add to the emperor's full plate as he struggled to finish his father's ceremony plans.

"Look," she sighed, red locks falling past her shoulders as she shook her head, "I wanted to ask you something."

"What?" he snapped, and he could feel her ire raise and regretted having done that. "I'm sorry," he said quickly and softly as she glared at the marble on the floor. "I am, you've been patient with me. No one else would have been as patient." He walked back to his throne, wearily collapsing into it, and she followed him there. "What was it you wanted to ask?"

Now Mara was hesitant, trying to play each precious card carefully. "I received a request from Alderaan…."

Luke raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Senator Amidala would like to go to your father's funeral."

"Absolutely not." Mara stood stunned for a minute as he got up again and brushed past her, going towards his more comfortable private office. She shook off her surprise and tried again.

"What?"

"There's no way. I won't have her there."

"You don't have to be invited to go to a funeral."

"You do when you're a foreign diplomat on enemy soil."

"But the war's over!" Luke did not pause as he unlocked the door and stepped in, Mara close on his heels. "We're not enemies now, you can't do that!"

"I most certainly can."

"Listen to me," she demanded, and he finally stopped, bending over his desk, breath ragged. "Look at it politically at the very least, what better way to display your new position on the Confederacy?"

"I married you, that's display enough for me."

"For Force's sake, she's like a mother to me!" Mara was finally pleading. "How could you expect me to tell her no after she came to me like that with tears stuck in her eyes? Please, Luke, for God's sake, please, it's the only thing I've ever really asked of you."

They stood there a moment, dead silent, until the emperor wearily pulled himself into his chair, eyes closed in that sunken face. Mara could not help but pity him. "Can you comprehend," he wheezed, "for a single moment what having her there would do to me?" He finally opened his eyes again, and they were a cold, ice cold blue. Mara stood firm, though, she had no other choice.

"You can handle it," she pledged. "I know you can, you're strong."

"Not that strong."

"Then how will you ever survive being emperor when you cannot face your own mother?"

He halfway closed his eyes, smiling lightly at her with a little snort. "No one survives being emperor. You go at it for as long as you can and you die, but nobody ever survives it. It is a blaster shot to the heart."

"My Lord," she sighed, hands clutched, "for the sake of your obedient wife – dodge this one shot."

He laughed at that, actually laughed, the first time in weeks he had laughed, and Mara took heart. "Well," he sighed. "What can I say? I suppose I'll have to greet her, won't I?"

"It would be appropriate."

"Appropriate," he sneered. "What an awful word. Sons should not greet mothers with propriety, that is not the way of nature." He sighed and flicked through datapads absentmindedly. "Perhaps, then, that renders such governments as ours as unnatural…"

"You need to sleep," she reminded, noticing how his mind was wandering, and he dropped the pad, reluctantly agreeing.

"I do, don't I? I look like a mess. Well, don't worry, tomorrow things will improve."

"Why tomorrow?" she asked, thinking maybe she should help him up as he struggled out of his chair, yet doing nothing.

"Because I said so," was the careless response. "Because I will not go before my people an empty shell." He yawned a little, balanced on his feet again. "I'm going to lay down for a bit. Could you do me a favor? Arrange with my secretary to have the Coruscant Daily Chronicle brought in as soon as I'm awake."

"The holonet report?"

"No, no, the company. A reporter or an editor or something."

"What? Why, they're so small!"

"Precisely," he sighed again. "No more questions for the present. I am off to bed." He glanced at her, noticed she was tired as well. "You might consider the same."

Mara just shook her head, not finding it worth the effort to argue with him.

…

The stretch speeder was moving slowly through the Coruscant streets – traffic was heavy today, and it wasn't hard to guess why. Even though she hadn't seen what was once a home to her in years, Padmè Amidala Skywalker Organa did not have her face pressed against the window. Probably she wouldn't have liked what she'd see. Dressed in irreproachable black, she sat across from her husband of twenty five years – which was far more than she'd ever had with Anakin – and took courage in his smiles.

"You're nervous," he said as she unabashedly plucked at the hem of her dark garment. "There's nothing to be worried about, he's not putting you up on the stage, you'll be safely tucked in the back-"

"Just like he said, I know." It seemed horrible to her that neither of them could pronounce her own child's name. But then, Luke hadn't been her child in years, and she could not expect to show up with a favor to ask and pull him back into her arms again. That was an embrace she would never know. There had been the vaguest of hopes while he was safe on Tatooine, that she would hold him as her child once more. But five years went by and then he was gone, and that breath of hope had gone, too. Anakin had wrecked a bloody vengeance for being denied his child, and Padmè felt the effects acutely.

And Luke did not seem to miss her in her absence.

She and Bail loved each other in their own sort of way. She'd never been romantic. As a girl, she had not expected a knight in shinning armor to find her, and it had been surprising when he had. But, considering how burned they'd both been by marrying for love, that second option of marrying for stability had become utterly appealing.

Once or twice they'd spoken to each other over it. "Did we make a mistake?" she'd whisper. "I appreciate everything you've done for Leia, Bail, I really do, but was this something we shouldn't have done?"

"Well," he'd sighed, unsure what to say, "the path to hell is lined with good intentions, Vader knows that. We cannot change it, we had best work through it."

But by and large they were happy together, if not as a man and wife, then as two very good, very old friends who had needed someone to fall back on. Their first choice denied them, they picked the next best thing, and nobody could say they didn't try.

But she could love Bail for loving Leia. He didn't disapprove of her due to her paternal heritage. He loved her all the more for her blessing in the choice of mother. He doted on her like the child he and Breha had never had, and loving the girl made them love each other more.

Bail would never be Anakin. But he could be a port in the storm, which was why he'd agreed to come with her to her ex-husband's funeral, knowing it was him she loved, not that Alderaanian senator. He accepted the competition and did not get jealous.

Leia had not wanted to come. "Why should I go?" she scoffed at her mother's offer. "The only relation of mine there will be the emperor, and God knows I have no desire to see him. It would be nice to see Mara, but she'll be too busy to talk much with me. No, thank you, I'll stay here."

It had nearly reduced Padmè to tears to know her daughter thought nothing of the man she did not know was her father, and even less of the ruler who was truly her brother.

Someday, maybe, she whispered to herself, you will have a real family, Leia.

Until then, Bail more than made up for it.

The speeder came to a slightly jerking stop and the doors opened. It surprised her just a little to find her son waiting for her right there, head to foot in black, so very rigid, so very formal. He helped her out of her seat and down the steps, bowing over her hand and grudgingly whispering, "Mother." He'd as soon call her Senator Amidala, but Mara had pleaded with him.

"She'd appreciate it like you wouldn't believe."

"Why?" was his response. "She's never been a mother to me. I've never had a mother."

"Pretend. Just for one moment, please pretend."

And he pretended, but the false pretext of it did not escape Padmè. She saw that coldness in his eyes, his father's very fine blue eyes. He was everything about his father, so much so she thought she'd nearly stumbled into Anakin again.

His eyes had only gotten cold in those last days before he disappeared completely, sucked into Palpatine's void, and not to return. But Luke's eyes held that same cold hurt. He took her arm and led her to the section he'd set aside for she and Bail, pressed her hand and requested leave to go as thousands upon thousands poured into the stadium he'd reserved for the ceremony.

Bail sat next to her expectantly, eyes lit up. "Well?" he asked. "Was it everything you expected?"

"He looks at me like he hates me," she sighed, and his shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry, Padmè."

"Don't be, I expected nothing less than for him to hate me. I could hate me for the mistakes I made regarding him. Well," she sighed, tearing her eyes off the living figure of her love, looking down at her husband's hands as they held her own in comfort. "I promise you, I am not hurt by it. Now I can rest assured – I've seen him and I know he cares nothing for me and I do not need to feel obligated! What a relief this has been, I shall have to thank Mara for the part she played."

"You needn't act the senator with me."

"Please, Bail, I don't know what other mask to wear."

A hush fell over the crowd; the ceremony was commencing…