I stood, took aim at the little black dot on the side of the cargo bay wall, and then ducked into a roll behind an empty shipping crate. Then I took aim at another black dot, ducked down completely, rose to take aim again, and then hit the deck. Hard. Breaking my fall with my face, as was my usual MO. Veers was kind enough to sigh this time, as opposed to the last twelve times we've tried this particular maneuver. There was this little trick where you could dive for the ground, but have your forearms down to steady yourself when you smacked the deck. That left your gun—blaster, I mean—in a steady unwavering grip. It also kept you from knocking the wind out of yourself, too. So, you know, youy could continue killing with controlled reckless abandon like a good little murdering Imperial.

And all you had to do was let out your breath as you fell, while simultaneously tightening up your abs muscles and arching your back slightly to absorb the impact of the fall. That way your thighs hit the ground instead of your pelvis, and you can launch yourself either to your feet or into a controlled roll all the while taking aim and killing whomever is trying to kill you.

God, it's so simple. Anyone can do it. Especially with a heavy blaster in your hand. Because sporting pistols are just too easy…

"Too slow, Your Highness. You are once again dead."

I puffed my hair out of my face, glaring at the source of all my current woes. If it had any effect on Maxmilian Hard-ass Veers, it didn't show. If anything, he returned a glare that made mine look like a cute kitten expression in comparison. If I hadn't seen it so many times in the past three days, I would have been intimidated. But today, it seemed that someone had doubled my dose of vitamin bitch.

"I am not," I snapped back. "I got my head down like you said."

"You did, but not before the tracker caught up with you. You completed the first roll to safety. It was your retaliation shot that did you in. Tell me again the first rule of combat?"

"Not to get into one?" I tried innocently. His lips compressed, and I sighed. "Okay, fine. It's being aware of your surroundings at all times. Gee, you leave no room for humor, do you?"

"I see no levity in combat training. Which is something you lack considerably, unlike your liberal use of sarcasm."

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd swear that was a compliment."

He shrugged, wincing as he did so. "Sarcasm is a huge part of your cover story, and it has its place just as any other weapon. However using it too often negates the impact."

I almost told him that sarcasm, itself, wasn't a weapon for me. It was the proverbial warning shot. Because when the sarcasm stopped, that was normally the point where I got violent. Or knocked unconscious when trying to be violent, or stunned unconscious, or… well, yeah. I wasn't very successful in the whole violence department, but it didn't mean I stopped trying!

I crawled over to where he was seated, not bothering to stand up. Not bothering to hide an expression of concern at that wince. It'd been three days since I'd stabbed him in the side with that needle, three days of hiding like a tape worm in the bowels of a, well, worm. Ever since Han and Leia had started to patch things up (I'll take all the good credit for that one, thank you very much!), they'd been scarce when not repairing the ship. One didn't need Veers's huge IQ to know that when both were missing, one stayed far away from the crew quarters.

Which happened a lot. Seriously, like a lot. At the rate they were going at it, I hoped to high heaven that Han had a warranty on those mattresses. The mileage was great, indeed if you know what I mean.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Unlike the slightly sallow tone that was slowly seeping into Veers's complexion. Or the slight yellow that was beginning to tint the whites of his eyes. Liver failure, that color said. We needed to get him to a hospital fast. Hence, my concern every time he glanced the wrong way.

"That's the first time anyone ever told me that sarcasm has a use," I said, sitting Indian-style at his feet.

"Evidently you have been listening to the wrong advisors, your Highness. Everything is a weapon in some shape or form."

Oh, that one was too easy. "Sure thing, Agent Coulson."

He lifted both eyebrows at me, and I tossed my empty blaster onto my lap. Like hell he was going to let me do rolls and crap with a blaster loaded with a full power pack. "He's a fictional agent from a comic series called The Avengers. That man believed everything was a threat. Aliens, walls, food, drink, the air we breathe…"

A touch of a smile graced his mouth. "I hardly believe I have fallen into that realm of paranoia, yet."

"Oh, sugar, don't be so hard on yourself," I patted his knee affectionately, smiling brightly. "Give yourself time. You'll get there soon."

I expected a gruff clearing of the throat, or a vexed look in response. During our "debriefing and training sessions," he really took the whole "role play" thing personally. As in, he was in the role of my drill sergeant/instructor/teacher/royal pain in the ass. I was the recruit/conscript/student/pain in the ass with potential. Nowhere in those defined categories did pesky things like friendship or casual touching come into play. Which is probably why I took every opportunity to touch him without seeming creepy about it.

Contrariness, thy name is me.

Instead, he chuckled. Which only heightened my concern. "You doing okay, there, General? You've been a bit out of sorts lately."

"I am as well as can be expected."

I snorted. "Okay, that line goes right up there with all the other crap that Thrawn, Thrass and Lo—Threnody throw at me. I swear the four of you can twist truth around so badly that it becomes a lie. Out with it, hon. Do you need another treatment? I can go and get it and—"

He eyed me sharply at that, which should have been the first clue that something was off. "Stand up," he ordered.

I did so. Like a dumbass. Expecting him to ask me to help him to medical or something like that. That so wasn't the case.

"Good," he said. "Now, shoulders back, head high. Feet shoulder width apart. Good. Now remain there."

"Why?"

"Discipline for disobeying the rules."

And then I did the second dumbass move today. I dropped the pose to turn an incredulous look upon him. Seriously, he was going to throw protocol at me when I was only trying to be helpful? And last time I checked, I was only doing all this training crap to keep him calm and to keep me from chewing the walls in boredom. I couldn't fix the ship like Chewie or the droids, and Veers wasn't in any shape to help even if Han would let him. So that pretty much left him and me with the task of staying the freak out of everyone's way.

Which in turn left us alone together, and ever since he got it in his head that Leia and I were imperial operatives in deep cover, he wasn't willing to talk about anything except how to improve on my operative skills. I didn't even get to open my mouth to start in on him with any of this. Wounded or not, he moved so fast, catching a handful of my hair and yanking me upright. Painfully so.

"Jesus, Veers—"

"You will stand at attention until I tell you otherwise," he replied, voice all smooth and rational and so making me want to kick him in the face. "You lack discipline, Your Highness. Which is why you fail so often in your target training and I suspect in much of anything you attempt in life. Focus on what I am telling you, not what you want to hear. Accept your surroundings for what they are, not what you wish they could be. Anticipation is well and good, but only when backed up with facts provided by my previous two statements."

Okay, I was really starting to get pissed. "I don't recall asking you to—"

He did something with that hand in my hair, and I swear to all that was holy I would have climbed the walls to get away from the sharp pain it caused. "You are not listening," He gave my head a little shake. "You must accept the realities of your situation if you wish to complete your mission."

"I don't understand! You're being a total tool, V—"

"General Veers."

"Fuck. You."

His hand slipped from my hair to the back of my neck, and this time I almost leaped into the ceiling. Seriously, how can grabbing the base of someone's neck be so damn painful?

"General Veers," he continued calmly. "Say it."

What was this, a bad round of 'Say my name, bitch!'? "No!"

"We will continue with this exercise until you perfect it, Your Highness. Now repeat what you are instructed to say."

The reality of standing there for as long as it took for one of us to out stubborn the other was just too long to contemplate. "Okay! Okay! General bloody—"

"General Veers."

"General Veers," I snarled, using his same emphasis.

"Again."

"General Veers."

"Again."

"General Veers!"

"Again."

"GENERAL VEERS!"

"Excellent. What is the first rule of combat?"

Shit, this again?! "Be aware of your surroundings at all times!"

"Again."

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times! What, do I have to get some crayons and spell it out for you on your level—"

"Again."

"BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS AT ALL TIMES!"

"Who am I?"

"General Veers!"

"Sir."

"Wha—"

"General Veers, sir."

"I'm not calling—"

"General Veers, sir. The pain will continue until you pass out or until I make you see reason, Your Highness," he said sternly. "This isn't a game. I am not some trophy prisoner for you, nor a charity case in which you can find relief from your grief at the loss of two of your assets by tending my wounds. I am an Imperial General and you are an Imperial operative. You will behave as these realities dictate. You will address me promptly and properly when I choose to speak to you. Do you understand?"

"Fuc—"

"We must start from the top, it seems. Very well, who am I?"

"A goddamn nightmar—"

"Who am I?"

"Batman—"

"Who am I?"

"Seriously, Veers, this hurts! Stop—"

His hand tightened and I went up on tip-toe. "Who am I?"

"General Veers, sir!"

"What is the first rule of combat?"

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times!"

"Incorrect. We start at the top again. Who am I?"

Incorrect? What? "General Veers, sir!"

"Good. What is the first rule of combat?"

And then I got it. Heaven help me, but I did. "Be aware of your surroundings at all times, sir!"

"Good. Very good. We are making progress at last. Tell me, what are you two largest flaws as I have outlined to you today?"

Oh bloody hell. This was going to be a long night.

For the millionth time, I toyed with the idea of just walking away. The Master of All Insufferable Men (a title I would have heretofore assigned to Thrawn or Thrass) was sleeping now, resting after another bacta injection. According to the chart/monitor thingy, he was deep in a REM cycle. There was no way he would know that I'd slipped away. And what would he do if he did? Han and Leia wouldn't force me to spend time with him anymore, not that they were forcing me to begin with. That was all my stupid doing. Fulfilling the idiotic delusion of many a fangirl in being close to one of their Imperial heroes.

Only he was proving to be a douche on so many levels.

Like ordering me to stand at full attention at the side of his bunk while he slept. As a punishment and reward (seriously, how in the Empire could this be seen as a reward?) for making it through my first official training session with him. I was to stand a full attention and be "on alert" until he woke. Then he'd proceed to ask me questions about what I'd "really observed" versus "what I thought I saw."

Apparently there was a difference between watching and "watching." He was determined that I learn that difference.

And for the millionth time, I dropped the idea of disobeying him. While he really had no power over me right now other than what I gave him (something else I was coming to learn about myself. I let my imagination run way too wild, assigning authority and respect to people that really didn't deserve it), I knew that if I ran to Han or Chewie and told them that Veers was abusing me, they'd throw him back into that cargo hold and throw away the key. He'd die there. Pure and simple.

While I was plenty irritated with him, I wasn't ready to sentence him to death. Just as I wasn't ready to experience another evening of standing on my tip-toes as he pinched whatever nerve he had in my neck to make things hurt that badly. Screw the Vulcan Neck Pinch. I feared the Veers Palm of Pain.

It took everything in me not to lift my arm and rub the back of my neck. That was forbidden when one was "on duty." Hands were behind the back or at the sides, feet shoulder width apart, shoulders squared, chin up. Eyes forward. Always eyes forward. And always, always observing everything that went on around me.

Normally this was a point in time where I'd let my mind wander to, gee, the Star Wars universe. When faced with nothing to do, or with something I didn't want to do rather, the GFFA had been my happy escape place. I'd ponder how my fave characters would get out of a particular situation, or how to get them into a situation. Or if another book would be released that contained my imagined situations. Not likely, given my random thoughts. But a girl could hope, right?

Being in the GFFA meant that any daydreaming would be nothing more than a pondering of my own reality. Depressing instead of exciting, truth be told. This wasn't anything like I had imagined it. In all those fantasies, in all those fanfictions, you never realized just how many personal demons came with being the hero, nor that the most terrifying enemy of all was the self-doubt that nagged at you when all was quiet, gleefully replaying every dumbass decision you've made with crystal clarity. Veers had done that for me today, touched a nerve.

Okay, okay. He touched an emotional nerve as well as physical one. Jeez, you people are picky.

And speaking of his Unholy Nerve Pinching Self, Veers stirred on his bunk and I brought my mind back to the present. "You may sit now," he said, voice sounding somewhat drowsy. "How long was I asleep?"

The impulse to tell him to use his own eyes and glance at the monitor on the wall literally above his head was smashed down, just like the desire to flip him the bird and tell him that I'll stand, thanks. Lord knew what else he had planned for me today, and I just may need that extra bit of rest sitting would grant me. Obediently, and only with a slight bit of sass in my motion, I plopped down on my bunk.

And OMG, seriously! He lifted an eyebrow at that and I literally sat up straight, hands folded in my lap and shoulders squared. "Better," He nodded. "Now answer, please."

"Three hours, sir," I bit out.

"And you stood there like I ordered for the entire time?"

I've got the leg pain to prove it, you douche! What came out of my mouth was a snapped "Yes, sir."

A somewhat curious expression crossed his features. "Why?"

Uh, because you pretty much tortured the crap out of me until I agreed to do it, you double douche! "Sir?"

"You could have walked away at any time."

Duh! "Yeah—uh, yes, sir."

He pushed himself carefully into a sitting position, favoring his left side in a way he hadn't before. "Why did you stay?"

"I don't know how you do things in this Empire, sir," I said, trying not to grind my teeth as I spoke. "But where I come from, sir, when people give their word, it means something, sir. My mother raised me better than that, for one, sir. For another, sir, back home people ask permission to speak freely from their military superiors, sir. So, sir, may I, sir, have permission, sir, to speak freely, sir?"

If that wasn't loaded with enough of those 'sirs' to gag a gundark, I didn't know what was.

He sighed slightly, more an exhalation of air through his nose. "We will discuss your discipline for the disrespect in your tone later. For now, yes. You may speak freely and be at your ease. When we are not in training, Your Highness, you can dispense with the formality."

I lifted both eyebrows. "Sir, before I even take that into consideration, sir, how am I to know, sir, when we're not in a training situation, sir? Sir, as you agreed with my Agent Coulson analogy before, sir, everything and every moment, sir, is a weapon, sir. Including my sarcasm, sir."

That last part was so loaded with sarcastic acid, I was surprised he had a face left after I was finished spitting it at him. And just because he was Veers, he chuckled. Last reaction I thought I'd get from him, but there it was. I was learning just how little I knew about him. Things that I thought would make him happy just irritated him, and the irritating things I did on purpose just amused him. It was like watching a French documentary on American lifestyles with Japanese subtitles. I could catch the gist of it because I knew some of the background, but the rest was absolutely perplexing.

"I will tell you when we are not in training."

"Sir, like now, sir?"

"Yes, like now, Your Highness. Speak."

"Bark. Bark," I snapped, throwing myself backwards onto my bunk and peeling off my boots. "My feet are killing me, you know. These boots weren't made for standing still that long."

"The pain will remind you of the price of disobedience. It was not meant as a luxury."

That time I did flip him off. And when he did that eyebrow rise thing, I returned it to him. "hey, you said we weren't in training."

"I did. However that is not permission to insult me at every opportunity."

"Oh, I owe you a few, doll—General," I still corrected hastily. "You tortured me."

"I corrected your behavior the best way I could in a short time."

"Correction. Torture. You guys in uniform need to stop rewriting the definition of words just to suit your needs. No wonder everyone lives in fear of the Empire. You can't even be sure you all are speaking the same language anymore."

"Your Highness—"

"No, no, hold up on that, General," I lifted one hand, the other was currently trying to massage feeling back into my toes. "Seriously, and this isn't being a nit-picker here. This is a valid concern. Unless you all start issuing the Palpatine Edition of the Galactic Dictionary, people are going to constantly run afoul of you. You said correction. What I experienced was torture. And you owe me one for that. You know it and I know it."

He pursed his lips, and then nodded. "My methods were harsh," he said, about as close to an apology as I was going to get. "That does not negate the necessity of them. And, for the record, a correction by pain is still a correction in the military."

"I seem to have lost my military-to-everyone-bloody-else translator."

That slight smile returned. "I'll see to it that you have one when we return to the Empire."

"And I'll get right on reading it," my words suggesting I'd probably use it for a door post. I would have said toilet paper, but he'd probably hand me a data pad. I'm not wiping my ass with a data pad, thanks. Just no.

"You are evading the question, your Highness."

"There was a question in all of that, General?"

"The original question. Why did you stay?"

I fell silent for once (shocker!) and really thought about what I could say to him versus what I really should say. And THAT was partly due to the fact that he was a full Imperial and I was… well… I was what I was. Believe it or not, that was my first thought. Not that I had to hide the fact that I was from Earth and anything I siad might lead back to that. Nope, just that he was on one side of a line and I was on the hazy somewhat nebulous position near it (Let's be honest for a second. If I'd fully committed to either side, I wouldn't be here right now. If I was a rebel, I so would have left him in the snow like Han wanted. If I was full Imperial, I wouldn't be giving him a load of shit at every turn. Well, okay, that wasn't accurate either. I give everyone a load of shit, because that's just who I am. But I digress…), and what I said would be used against me later on if we happened to be at cross purposes.

On the other hand, it would be nice to get another outside perspective on the screwed up crap I called a brain.

"What?!" I demanded when I glanced back up at him and saw that smile was still there.

"You are thinking on what to tell me and what not to tell me, rather than verbalizing the first thought that crossed your mind. That, too, is progress."

"That, too, can kiss my ass, General. Hey! No giving me crap about saying that. That wasn't directed at you and I'm saying 'General' all polite-like. So bite me. And in case you need clarification, that last part was directed at you. So there."

That smile remained fixed on his face. "You will not change the topic by infuriating me. I understand now that that is one of your strengths."

Yup, me and Mara Jade. If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, make them stupid-mad with sarcasm… "And since you know it, you won't fall for it."

"Precisely, Your Highness. Your answer, please."

I squirmed on my bunk, glaring down at the floor. "You won't like the answer."

"My personal feelings are not relevant to this conversation."

"You say that now, pa—General. Just wait until you hear it."

"As I have now asked you three times for the information, I can assure you, I have been waiting."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That came suspiciously close to a joke, General. I thought there was no room for levity between us."

"There is a distinct difference between our training time and our personal time. I shall add the distinction to your next lecture."

I threw myself flat on my bunk with a groan. "No more lectures. I thought I was finished with them when I graduated from college."

He was quiet for a long moment, so much so that I sat up in a sort of alarm, expecting to see him doubled over or unconscious or dead or something. Instead, he was just staring at me in silence. It would have been so creepy if not for the look of partial concern on his features. Sort of like the look he'd given me that night in the 'Falcon's cockpit.

"Don't do that," I snapped.

"Do what?"

"Scare the life out of me, dum—General! I thought you and keeled over or something."

A twitch of his lips, as if he was amused and annoyed by my concern all at once. "If you are so worried over my well-being, I would suggest you stop wasting our time together with deflecting the question at hand. This will not go away, Your Highness. You cannot push me away as you seem to do the others around you. Nor can you bury me in a steady stream of sarcasm and seemingly idiotic antics. You are far more intelligent than you appear, and yet you constantly sabotage yourself at every turn. I want to know why. No, I need to know why if we are to succeed in our mission."

The need to tell him that this wasn't a mission, that he wasn't my commander, that I didn't sabotage myself, and that he could take all his soul-searching looks and crap and shove them where the sun doesn't shine, died on my lips. That emotional nerve he'd touched was just blazing with pain again, and the images that accompanied it rose up unbidden in my head.

Suddenly my mind took that wrong turn at Albuquerque, and I was on the Death Star again instead of in Palm Springs where I should have been. Praji's hand was locked across my mouth, the leather like a buttersoft mockery of a kiss against my lips. Tears spilled down my face, breaking against the dam of that black leather, his heart jackhammering in his chest as loudly as mine. And his hand on my upper arm pulled me closer to him rather than pushed me forward, as if his body and heart was rejecting the orders his brain gave to take me to this horror show.

"Be strong," he'd whispered, his mouth hidden in my hair. "Mary, be strong for just a little longer, and everything will be okay."

But he'd never get to keep that promise. Nothing would be okay ever again.

The doors parted, and Moff Murderface stood there in all his unholy glory, smiling that grim reaper smile of his. Beckoning me forward with one raised hand, one flex of his fingers. As if, in that one motion, he'd set into action the chain of events that lead to Alderaan's destruction. I remembered all that terror, all that pain and fear and helplessness as I watched helplessly while billions died. But also the relief—the relief of all things!—that I felt in that helplessness. There was nothing I could do to save anyone on Alderaan. There was nothing I could do to alter the flow of events no matter how much I wished I could.

Hiding in my captivity. Just as I'd hidden from any real responsibility since I'd stumbled upon that unmarked grave—

"You touched a nerve, alright?" I huffed out, slapping my bare feet on to the floor and crossing my arms over my chest. "And I mean more than the nerve on my neck or whatever it was you Vulcan neck pinched to cause that much pain. You hit a real nerve, an emotional nerve. One I thought I'd gotten over years ago. But oh, no, thanks to your psychoanalysis or whatever, you had to go and drag it kicking and screaming back to my present. You know, I was clearly happy being a nobody looser bartender until all this crap happened!"

No flicker of emotion in him, no change in his posture to indicate he'd slipped into Unwanted Teacher Mode. Just silence… and a steady stare that could suck the truth out of a pathological liar.

"That probably made no sense to you, but we aren't talking about you right now, okay? We're talking about me. Not everything is about you all the time. So shut up and sit down and listen for once!"

One eyebrow arched slight. Probably at the fact that he was already sitting there silently and listening. But if you get that phrase yelled at you enough in your life, it becomes an automatic reflex to spout it out when you're upset. I went to rub my hand over my face, and thought better of that. I thought about leaning my forehead against the durasteel wall, but changed my mind there, too. Both of those movements were refuges, safety actions to help ground me away from something I didn't want to face.

"My whole adult life has been about running," I blurted, tucking my fingers under my legs to keep from doing something with my hands. "I… I saw something when I was fresh out of college. Something that stripped the innocence right off my ass so fast you would have thought it was a varnish. I've been running from it ever since, from anything that had any real responsibility to it, because that reminded me of the thing that I'm running from in the first place."

"What did you see, Your Highness?"

"A grave," I said, rocking slightly. Unable to shut the freak up. "A mass, unmarked grave. All my life I've been fascinated by other cultures, you see. I was into the Japanese language and way of life long before Anime spread through the American scene like a plague. And speaking as one of those said plague victims, try to cure me of it and I'll eat your face, you feel me? Us Anime fans are happy in our afflictions, especially since the symptoms include cosplay cons, kick ass heroes, wild colored hairstyles and future tech. But it wasn't just Japan that caught my attention. It was China, and it was Germany, and it was Rome. Anything that had a different political or cultural view than ours. America's I mean. So I chose Anthropology as a career when I went to college. But all that training, all that fascination, never prepared me for what I saw.

"It wasn't so much the grave as it was what it represented," I continued. "I'd seen bones before, you know. I took Osteology in college as an elective. So I know a complete skeleton forwards and backwards. I can tell you all the bones in the human body and how they work and junk. So seeing the bones in that grave wasn't what did me in. It was… it was the manner of it. The… inhuman quality to it. The knowing that all these cultures that so fascinated me were just as debased and horrible as my own. They were just as capable of destruction and death as the maniacs on the street paying two hundred bucks for a gun to kill their cheating girlfriend."

"You did not kill them, Your Highness," he said simply. Quietly. "You did not place the weapons in the hands of their murderers."

"Don't you think I know that? Christ, I've been trying to know that for the past six years. I didn't kill those people. But I had a suspicion who did. I had a feeling it was the same asshats that were escorting my professor and me all around the country! And there was nothing I could do about it."

"You are correct. There was nothing you could have done."

"But that didn't give me the liberty to feel relieved by it, any more than it gave me the freaking right to feel relief when the Death Star blew up Alderaan!"

I was screaming by then. On my feet and just bellowing at him. Because it was all true. And I felt like the lowest form of life ever.

"You could not have done anything about Alderaan, either, Your Highness," He roared over me, his terminating in a wet coughing sound.

"But I should have been able to do something! I'm a mother-fucking Jedi, Veers! I know shit that could turn your hair white if I told you! I knew it was going to happen before Moff Murderface woke up and decided 'hey, I'm an evil dick. I'm gonna blow up a world to prove it. Maybe put in a new hyperspace lane through the debris and call it the Tarkin Memorial Parkway! Yeah, that's what I'll do. Because I'm evil' and put on his Evil League of Evil membership T-shirt beneath his fucking pressed uniform. I KNEW IT! DID I STOP IT? NO, I DIDN'T, AND THAT MAKES ME JUST AS FUCKING RESPONSBILE FOR EVERYTHING!"

"And so you destroyed the Death Star in retaliation?"

"YES! Errr… no! Wait, what? That was all Lord Hater's plan, not mine!"

He fixed me with a hard look. "Be that as it may," he bit out. "The deaths of those people weigh upon you just as the deaths on Alderaan and in that grave you carry in your heart. It was the first thing your guilty conscience confessed when given the sliver of an opportunity. Was it revenge, Your Highness? Did it assuage your Jedi guilt for Alderaan even for a moment?"

"It had to happen!" I blurted, flabbergasted. "The stor—"

"Did it?" He countered. "Was there truly no other way?"

Luke's comments came back to me. His words so imploring, which at that time had seemed so dumb to me. But now… now…

Aurora, tell me you are not on the Death Star. I don't want to take this shot if—

To hell with me, you take that shot when it comes up, you hear me farmboy?! You have no choice. We all know that.

No, not if it kills you. We'll find another way. There's got to be another way.

There is no other way! Take the shot. Take it!

NO!

"Fuck. You. Maxi," I snarled, feeling like I wanted to throw up all over the place. God, I had felt so right, so justified in ordering Luke to pull the trigger. Now… god, I hate this. Hated it! "Just go to hell!"

He waited until the echo of my rage finished reverbierating in the tiny medical bay. And said softly, ever so softly. "Did you know, in your august Jedi wisdom, that the people in that grave were going to be there?"

His words hit me like a punch to the forehead. "No," I growled back. "But I should have. I knew the history of that area and the bloodthirsty people that ran that government now were the same people in charge when that grave was dug. They just acted like they were reformed. I should have expected it."

"So you carry the guilt for nothing," He shook his head. "You waste your life because others died before you. Faceless people you had never met, who were not your responsibility. You run away because they could not. A pity that their sacrifices meant so little to you."

Mother fucker said what? "You son of a—"

"What is the first rule of combat?"

"This isn't a lesson, Vee—"

"What. Is. The. First. Rule. Of. Combat?"

"It's know your mother-fucking surroundings, you douchebag asshole!"

"Did you know your surroundings in all three events? When facing Alderaan, the Death Star, and this grave?"

"Yes!"

"What did you know about them?"

"That I couldn't do anything!"

"Why?"

"Because the assholes with the bigger guns were always around me. Saying or doing anything would have ended up with me dead, too. And I tried, anyway! But I was bound and gagged during Alderaan, and I was stuck in a shuttle in the middle of the Yavin massacre, and the grave… I was… I was…"

"Scared?"

"Hell yes I was scared! They had guns, General! They had guns bigger than any cross-section of my body. And my professor was giving me that same look you all give me, the one that says keep your mouth shut and do as you're told! And I did!"

"What happened during each encounter?"

"What do you think happened! Alderaan was destroyed. Luke blew up the Death Star—"

"I thought you said you destroyed it."

"I ordered him to do it!"

"You put together the battle plan that identified a weakness in the Death Star, separated the squadrons, and assigned each man to their sector for the battle?"

"No, I—"

"Did you have the authority within the Rebellion to give orders to those pilots?"

"No, but—"

"You were bound and gagged, restrained to the fullest ability, when Alderaan was destroyed. You had no authority to command, or responsibility in planning the assault that lead to the destruction of the Death Star. Just as you did not know that you cut your way into my AT-AT during the battle of Hoth, which you were summarily bound and gagged through the destruction of that unit that lead to the death of Damien Mercado. Just as you had no way of knowing that the Star Destroyer was going to strike the Runaway Princess in precisely the right place to cause the electrical issues that killed Dak Raltor. Is all that correct?"

"Yes," I whispered, slumping back onto my bunk. "It's all true."

"Then explain to me how any of this is your fault."

"B..because I knew it was going to happen?" Man, as far as lame responses went, that took the gold star. Even I flinched as I said it.

He sighed, the sound carrying a heavy disappointing weight to it. "So we start again at the top. What is the first rule of combat?"

I huffed out a sound that was more a sob. Not this again… "Be aware of your surroundings at all times."

"What is the second rule of combat?"

I glanced upwards, met his steady gaze through my tears. "I… we haven't gone over that yet."

"Haven't we?"

"General, please. I don't want to—"

"What did you see when you were standing guard at my bedside?"

"I saw the walls, the floor, the empty hallways and the shadows."

"What else?"

Stars, but now I was so tired. Nothing like a great emotional outburst to rip all the energy from you. I ran my hands over my face so hard I nearly caused a nose-bleed. Nearly, being the operative word. Strong, gentle hands pried mine from my face.

"Shadows," I said again, though with a different meaning. "I saw the shadows of my failures. I would like to say I saw some successes, too, but all I saw was everything I'd run away from my whole life."

He nodded, and some of the angry tension left his hands. "The second rule of combat, Your Highness, is to accept the limitations and strengths as presented to you through rule number one. That is not limited to terrain and weaponry. It includes the reserves inside oneself, one's condition both physically and mentally, and those around them."

"So what does that make me, General? Am I a strength or a weakness in your estimation?"

"A weakness," He said simply, honestly. "However, I am willing to reassess that classification."

"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"Consider it a payback for correcting you earlier."

I snorted out something of a laugh. "Oh, no. You aren't off the hook that easy."

"Nor are you, Your Highness."

Uh… what now? "Me?"

"On the morrow, I will assign your discipline for your disrespect towards me today. While we have discovered the root problem of your fear of success, we do not have the luxury of indulging your other weaknesses."

I tried to rub my face again, but my hands were still tangled up in his. "Is this the part where I tell you that I'm not your officer again?"

He shrugged a shoulder oh so lightly. "Only if you wish to repeat our lessons from the top."

Oh hell no…. "No, sir," I nearly squeaked, earning a chuckle in return.

He let go then, taking the whole two strides to get back to his bunk, lowering himself to it gingerly. "Very good, Your Highness," he replied. "Tomorrow, on top of discipline and target practice, I shall teach you another point of military etiquette now that you have mastered the proper use of the word 'sir.' For now, I will rest. You are dismissed."