A/N: I'm once more thanking everyone for the reviews and private messages. I love this story and I'm so glad everyone is enjoying it... ::slants a look at Mary:: Well, almost everyone is enjoying it. She's a little concerned with the way things are progressing, but I'm loving it. So I guess it gets to stay that way. As always, I respond to every review that I can. Apologies to those that review without a link. I can't respond to those, so I just hope you understand how much I love the reviews. Oh, this time around I couldn't help but pick on Disney. I have love for Disney, so don't think I hate them. It just fit perfectly in this scene.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun!
The surface beneath me was too soft.
That was the first thought that came to mind when consciousness reclaimed me. I was laying on something soft and warm and comfortable. For a moment, a blessed wonderful moment, I actually believed that I was at home in my bed. I allowed myself the luxury of snuggling in deeper to the mattress, pulling the blanket up over my head. Any minute now, my alarm would go off and I would begin my day (well, my evening, being that I was a bartender. I normally didn't crawl out of bed until 4pm) with throwing every single Star Wars book, DVD, costume, and piece of memorabilia I owned out my fifth story bedroom window.
501st Costuming membership award and pictures? Kiss pavement. DVD collection? So long, sucka. Lightsaber signed by Mark Hamill? Hello, landfill! And so on and so forth.
And then I would gather up what remained of those items, douse it with a fifth of Jack Daniels, and light that crap on fire. Gleefully dancing a happy booty dance around the flames while it burned. I had enough cash in my emergency fund to pay for the citation the police would give me for starting a fire without a permit. No objection here, officer, I'll gladly take the ticket! Like they would believe me anyway if I tried to tell them the reason for my impromptu death-by-fire of my former favorite items. After being locked up on the dream-Death-Star I wasn't looking forward to another cell, especially if this one was all white and filled with padding.
Then I'd take that bunch of ashes that was a lifetime of collecting out to the Hudson and dump them into a watery grave with the rest of the unwanted memories people dropped there.
Consider that my official break-up letter to LucasFilms. I was done with Star Wars. Forever. End of list. That's all she wrote. Ta da! I'd even toast with what was left of the bottle of Jack before dumping that in the water, too. Now that was a comforting thought.
But the alarm didn't go off, and the soft surface beneath me ended a lot sooner than it should. My bed was bigger than this. I should be able to stretch my arms all the way out on both sides and not touch empty air or wall. That made me frown, made me crack open an eye.
I was back in my prison cell.
"No freaking way!" I screamed, bolting upright. "This has to be some kind of mistake. I can't do this again! I can't go through another round of this crap. You have to let me go! I—"
I ended up on the floor once again, face first as always. This time, luckily, I didn't break anything. Mostly because the thick padding that had been placed on my shelf/bed/torture thing had become twisted with the soft blanket, which in turn was all wrapped up in the full skirts of my dress. So when I went down hard due to my panicked thrashing, all that came with me. I landed with a muted prissy "oof!" rather than a crack of bone.
And typical of my life, when I was in the most compromising of positions, Lady Fate beat me with the Reality Stick until I came to my senses and understood my surroundings.
There was a tiny padded stool in one corner of my cell that shouldn't have been there, a section of the wall folded out like a tray. On it sat a plate of food—real food and not a ration bar—and smelled so heavenly I would have run to it if not for the wad of fabric that I was cocooned within. As I was making with my emergence like some sort of miniature starving Mothra, I noticed that the other wall boasted a full length mirror now.
I glanced at it. Trust me, one glance was all it took.
"I'll kill him!" I shrieked, shedding the last of my blanket and stumbling towards the mirror, gawking at my reflection. "You hear me, Lord Hater? Your ass is so mine for what you've done!"
The son of a bitch had Princessed me! Yes, that was an actual verb. Any female that had visited Walt Disney World or DisneyLand knew that dreaded verbiage. If you were a little girl six years of age or under, you loved the Princessing experience. But any female over the age of thirteen learned to wail in fear at it.
I stood staring at myself in that mirror, taking in the full skirts, the tight fitting bodice and off the shoulder long sleeves of my dress. It was all in black, of course, with a belt of heavy silver medallions (each emblazoned with the Imperial sigil) encircling my waist. The dress was a carbon copy of Sleeping Beauty's dress, except, again, in black instead of pink. And instead of her crown, I wore a circlet of silver that resembled it, except inverted so the point rested delicately just between my eyebrows.
Somehow he'd found a hair stylist that had given my limp locks a makeover, so the blonde waves shone in the muted lights. And was that… yes, I was wearing mascara! I never wore mascara! No matter how waterproof they said it was, it never lasted through a shift at the bar. It would always run into my eyes. But I was wearing it now, and it miraculously made my eyes look like Leia's, like large dark pools worth falling into.
Son of a… If Princess Aurora and Morticia Addams got together and had a kid, I would have been that kid. Gothic Disney Princess Barbie at your service! I was going to rip every wire out of Lord bloody Hater's body with my bare hands. And not because of the gown he'd chosen, but because it wasn't just a gown. It was livery, in his chosen colors of black and silver. Might as well exchange the circlet for a French maid cap, for it meant the same damn thing.
Servitude, this outfit said, no matter how lovely or how rich the fabric. I was his servant.
Death was too good for him!
My cell door slid open suddenly, and I threw up a hand to my eyes as pure white light flooded inward. Smoke came next, the scent of charred flesh and the sharp tang of electrical burns quickly on its heels. People screamed, bodies fell to the floor in a clatter of white armor, and over that all a cacophony of blaster fire added a frightening sort of background music to the events.
A stormtrooper popped his helmeted head in, scanned the cell before settling on me. "You!" he exclaimed through that stupid filter-speaker in the helmet. "You're the Lady Aurora Soresen, right?"
Lady who? What? And was that… yes, it was! It was Luke's voice. Holy crap, they were here to save the Princess already? How freaking long had I been asleep this time?!
"Yes!" I exclaimed, rushing over to him, trying not to trip on the stupid skirt. I was never good in long skirts. "I mean, no. I'm not—"
My throat constricted unexpectedly, cutting off the words, and my hands flew to my neck. What was wrong with me? Was it the smoke in the air? Sudden stage fright from meeting my childhood crush face to face? Dude, it was Luke Skywalker! Not an actor, but the real guy! I used to fall asleep as a little girl staring up at a poster of him tacked above my bed, my arms wrapped around a plushy Chewie. Until I turned thirteen, I meant, and found out I had inherited my mother's weakness for bad men. Then Luke was replaced with Vader. And when Revenge of the Sith came out, Vader was replaced with Jedi Anakin.
Yes, I realize ROTS came out recently. And yes, I still slept with my plushy Chewie to this day. Don't judge. Some habits die hard.
I tried again to say that I wasn't this Lady whatsherface. And again, my throat closed up on me. "I'm M… I'm M…"
Real fear wrapped around my heart this time instead of Vader's fist. You can do this, I screamed at myself. Tell him your name. Say the words: Mary Vasquez. Say Mary Vasquez! I tried again, and again met with the same windpipe-closing results.
I was literally choking on my own name.
And as if that wasn't bad enough, it all came back to me. Memories of how I went from the party to my cell filled my lungs with a scream I would never give voice...
Vader had finished with Leia, her head slumping forward until her chin touched her chest, red blood-tinged tears sliding down her cheeks. I had reached for her, fearing that he'd finally killed his daughter, that he'd literally crossed a wire in the processor he called a brain and melted hers into slag. He'd let me lunge for her; let me cup her face in my hands, pushing our foreheads together as I wept. As I promised her that I'd find a way to make this right.
And then he was behind me, gloved hand slipping through my hair like Fucktard Motti had tried to do, caressing his new pet. Telling me that I would make a good servant, that when his daughter was truly at his side, I would serve her, too. I'd lost my mind at him, too stupid and scared and angry to remember how well that crap worked the last time I tried it.
My anger left me wide open for his attack, his mental fingers raking down the inside of my skull, teaching me that I had a lot left to learn about pain. I screamed at him anyway that I wasn't his toy, I wasn't some Barbie and Leia wasn't some Disney Princess he could pack up in a glass case when he was done playing with us. He laughed, the sound like an electronic grating of nails on a chalkboard.
He'd said that I gave him the most intriguing of ideas. I would be rewarded for them.
But I guess the reward portion of my time with him was yet to come. Because I'm pretty sure what happened next was the exact opposite of reward. His Force fingers turned into a giant iron fist, smashing into my memories over and over and over until I'd blacked out. Shattering me just like he had shattered Leia.
Just like the pieces of Alderaan floating out there beyond the window.
My last thoughts as consciousness left me was a hope that I would sleep for a thousand years, like Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty, rather than wake up to this nightmare again. But even my enchanted sleep wasn't safe. Whispered words like the hiss of poisoned vipers infiltrated that blackness, putting up roadblocks in my mind, creating pathways in other portions that did not exist before. I couldn't thrash away, couldn't move.
Couldn't. stop. him!
How do you run away from yourself? From something that was literally inside the cells of your brain, playing Tetris with your neurons? The answer, of course, was that you couldn't. You were really and truly screwed. And out of my mouth came that half-swallowed, half stuttered sigh that Leia had made... the sound of a scream unable to fulfill its purpose.
The sound of ultimate despair.
The Force can do terrible things to the mind, I remembered Carth Onasi saying in KOTOR. I suddenly regretted with the passion of a thousand fiery supernovas the moment I daydreamed about being female Revan. Careful what you wish for, right?
I didn't get to finish taking my mental inventory to see what else Lord Hater had reinvented in my head. Leia barged into my cell, her eyes fierce and strong as she found me. "Yes, that's her!" she shouted above the fighting. "She needs to come with us. Hurry!"
Luke grabbed my arm, dragging me forward and out.
"But I'm not… I'm… You have to listen to me!" I screamed. "I'm not… I am… My name is M… M…"
I'm Mary Vasquez! I'm Mary Freaking Vasquez! I live in Manhattan, New York! I was born on Earth! My parents are Meredith and Alejandro Vasquez and they live in Florida! I work at a club called The Nevermore, and I'm a bartender! I'm Mary Vasquez! I'M MARIA ELENA VASQUEZ!
None of that would come out of my mouth. No matter how much I tried.
"I'm Lady Aurora Soresen," I whispered dully as Luke shoved me behind him, next to Leia. "Oh god, what has he done to me?"
Princess Aurora, that was my new name. Sleeping Beauty. Man, Vader had a sick sense of humor.
"No!" Leia screamed sternly into my ear over the fighting, holding my hand tightly… like I had done with her. "Don't give up now, Aurora. We're getting out of here. You wouldn't leave me behind when we were girls and I fell into that ravine. I won't leave you here, either. Now stay firm! The Rebellion needs us!"
My mouth fell open, appalled at what she was blabbering. Surely even Vader couldn't put a lifetime's worth of memories into her head without something seeming wonky! I mean, I had no memory of—
And there it was, called to mind as easily as any other thought in my head. I saw in my mind's eye two little girls I knew I'd never seen before, playing hide and seek in a castle garden I'd never personally visited, knowing they weren't supposed to go so far out, so close to the wall that was being repaired. They were chasing butterflies, glittery little butterflies that had jeweled antenna and wings of the thinnest silk. They were laughing and telling secrets to each other.
And the little brunette slipped on the rubble of the broken wall, tumbling out of sight. The little blonde—the little ME I realized!—had screamed her five-year-old head off, holding onto Leia's tiny hand through the pain of the rough rocks beneath her and the crying of her little muscles. Determined to hold to her best friend until hell froze over.
"That's not…" My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth before I could add "my memory" to that statement. "Leia, I'm not…" Dammit, why couldn't I say it!
A blaster bolt scorched the steel above our heads, ending my protests abruptly. Leia and I slammed ourselves out of the way before the melted metal could fall on us. Huddling together like… like little girls in a garden. I looked into her eyes, saw nothing but the determination to survive that should be there. Saw nothing of the sleeper personality that Vader must have hidden in her mind somewhere, like he'd done to me. Only I was fully aware of mine… and helpless to do anything about it.
Was that my reward or punishment, I had to wonder.
"We can't go back that way!" Han Solo shouted above the blaster fire.
Oh, yeah, there was that little problem of a firefight going on around us, wasn't there?
Leia and I both turned in unison, her eyes turning cold and mine widening in disbelief as we took in the man before us. After all I had been through already, I was still stunned to my fangirl core to be staring at Han Solo. He spared a few seconds to fit a new energy pack into his weapon, using that motion to get an eyeful of both our huddling forms from head to toe. And even in the middle of a fight-for-your-life, the man had the audacity to put an approving light into those eyes of his, a roguish smile tipping his totally kissable mouth. Give him a rose in his fingers instead of a gun, and we'd have ourselves the most delicious "Bachelor" to ever grace Reality TV.
Holy frick, he was even better looking in person than on film.
And Chewie! Chewie was there, wookie-growling curses that probably would have made me blush if I could speak Shriwook or at the very least sit up and take notes. I wanted to run from my cover and hug the big furball, cuddle him like my plushy. His death in the Expanded Universe novels had been heartbreaking and, while I didn't want to say useless, it was needless in my opinion. Seeing him alive was like finding a penny heads-up on the sidewalk: it was a sign of good luck.
If Chewbacca was still alive and kicking, then I knew everything would somehow be alright. I just had to survive long enough to get to Dagobah. If I could get to Master Yoda, surely he'd fix my broken head, right? Right?! Unless… unless I was supposed to go there according to Vader's mind tampering. Unless I was supposed to lead him to the tiny Jedi Master?
Oh son of a freaking bitch, I couldn't even trust myself now!
"Two princesses?" Han snarled, staring daggers at Luke. "You only mentioned one. Bad enough trying to get four of us out of here, but now five? Looks like you really enjoy playing the odds, kid."
Leia managed an indignant sniff, even in the midst of a gun battle. "What it looks like is that you've managed to cut off our only escape route. This is a detention area, you know. They don't build them with multiple exits."
"Begging your forgiveness, Your Highness," Solo replied in a tone that was anything but begging or respectful, squeezing off another round of shots and taking down another trooper. "But maybe you'd prefer it back in your cell?"
"Enough, you two. There's got to be another way out," Luke cut in, pulling a tampon-shaped device from a belt case and speaking into it. "See Threepio… See Threepio! We've been cut off here. Are there any other ways out of the detention area—anything at all? What's that… I didn't copy."
I huddled down behind Luke's shoulder, feeling a rush of adrenaline… and a sort of treacherous fear. Was Praji out there in that firefight? Was he wounded? Was he dead? Was I really caring about that? Yes, I admitted bitterly. Vader had been right. I cared deeply what happened to him. And every stormtrooper that hit that floor unmoving, a black smoldering hole in the front of his armor (seriously, why did they wear it in the first place if it didn't block so much as a stun pistol's worth of energy!), was Nadonnis. It was enough to make me want to leap out into the smoke and haze, surrendering.
"There isn't any other way out!" Luke screamed to Han.
"Well, they're closing in on us," Han retorted. "What do we do now?"
"This is some rescue," Leia the Irritated snapped. "When you came in here, didn't you have a plan for getting out?"
Han jerked his chin towards Luke. "He's the brains, sweetheart."
And apparently that's when Leia had had enough. I wanted to shake her like a freaking maraca. Now she was showing all sorts of guts and glory? It had never bothered me in the movies that she just now came out of her little shell and became the badass we all knew and loved. That had been surprising and refreshing at the time.
But having gone through four plus days of the most horrific crap ever imagined, I was a little offended that she decided at random that a half-botched rescue attempt was her proverbial last straw. I'd been fighting and kicking and screaming the whole time. She'd been… well… a dainty princess waiting for rescue. She had reminded me of that scene from Shrek 3 when all the princesses got together and formed a great plan to escape—just sit there and wait.
But now that the rescue was there, it wasn't good enough? Now she decided to spin around and reveal her Wonder Woman underoos?
"Well, I—hey!" Luke cried as Leia literally ripped the blaster from his hands.
Like the hero she was born to be, I begrudgingly admitted, and like the woman that had captured the hearts of men and women all over the world, she laid down her own line of cover fire, crossing from one side of the detention hall to the other. One final shot blasted open the grate near Han's foot, causing the smuggler to nearly dance out of his concealment as if someone had lit a firecracker under his ass.
"What do you think you're doing?!"
"It looks like it's up to me to save our skins," she tossed Luke's blaster back at him, wadding up part of her sleeves in each hand to grip the hot twisted metal that had once been a security grate. "Get into that garbage chute, Flyboy!"
And like Keyser Soze, in a flash she was gone, leaving us no choice but to follow or be blasted to pieces. Luke glanced over his shoulder at me, as if waiting for me to suddenly reveal that I was a super hero, too. Like I was hiding an X-men uniform under all those layers of skirts or something. I glanced back at him with a look that said I was anything but. Surprisingly it made him smile shyly, like my less than astronomical inner strength was a comfort. That I was just as scared as he was.
Oddly, that smile made me feel better, too, and I couldn't help myself. I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "For luck," I said, stealing Leia's line.
He blushed like a schoolboy, his grin widening, making him look younger than his twenty years. Making me feel like a cradle robber, I grasped with a sinking feeling. He was barely a man, and I was a few months shy of turning the big 3-0. Granted, ten years wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but maturity wise? Ehhh, it still made me feel like that old man in Family Guy, the one always chasing Chris around.
By the time I got my head back into the game, Luke had reloaded his blaster with a fresh pack. Still smiling at me as if he'd been kissed by a real princess. And then he was laying down the cover fire the same way Leia had, motioning for me to follow the only true princess in this situation. Bracing myself, I dove behind him and into the chute after my new best friend.
As I ricocheted like a renegade pinball towards the worst smelling substance I had ever known, and coming from a bartender in the Lower West side of Manhattan, that's really saying a lot, I wanted to kick myself. I'd always dreamed of being Leia's best friend, even as a little girl. And now I was, thanks to Lord Hater scrambling her memories like a rubric's cube. I'd always daydreamed of being female Revan, too. Again, thanks to the twisted generosity of anti-Santa Claus, I was that as well.
Except I wasn't a Force user like Revan, just somebody mentally scrambled by it. And I wasn't with Carth Onasi, a gorgeous stubborn solider for the Republic, either. But I did have a Praji… sort of… and he was a gorgeous stubborn solider for the Empire. That counted, right?
All of my wishes had come true from the age of six until now. I was a Gothic-Disney-Princess-Bestie-to-Leia-wannabe-Female-Revan. All in one nifty little terror-soaked package. How efficient.
If I survived this, I was never going to wish for anything again.