Chapter 25

Ana had always found solace in fixing things. She was like her namesake in that respect. Her Grandma Padme had always said her Grandfather was the same.

Her love and skill of tinkering and fixing anything mechanical was a trait she very much had inherited from her Grandfather Anakin. While her father was easily as skilled and talented a pilot as his father, he'd never quite had the same level of skill for mechanics that Ana and her grandfather had. Even her Uncle Han was, generally speaking, a better mechanic than her father. Sure, Luke had been a talented enough in his own right when the need arose, but he just hadn't quite had the same innate understanding of what made all things that ran, flew or hovered work as his father and daughter. Or rather, daughters; it was a talent that Kira too had been showing signs of inheriting. Even Ben, with all his apparent likeness to their shared grandfather, hadn't inherited Anakin's love of tinkering.

It was that skill, in part, that had led to Ana bonding as she had with her Uncle. Many an afternoon during their family visits had seen Ana and her Uncle disappearing into the innards of the Falcon. It had been their time. Something special that they shared. A place where Ana could go to disappear and sort through whatever childhood frustration had left her upset or angry or verging on tears.

And it always helped. Her parents had been somewhat surprised by how easily she'd taken to fixing things and the comfort she took in it. Though, her father more than her mom, come to think of it. But her Grandma Padme had always understood. It was her Grandma that had been the one to finally track Ana down that very first time she and her Uncle had disappeared without a trace into the Falcon. She'd known even then just how much like her Grandfather Ana was in that respect. In many respects, really. Just as she'd seemed to know just how easily Ana would ultimately relate to Anakin Skywalker.

How she suddenly wished her Grandma Padme was with her just then…a ache of longing pulsed in her gut. Somehow, without even being Force-sensitive, she'd always known what to say to make her feel better. Her and Ben. Everything had changed when Padme died…Ben had started to pull away, to change, seeming to withdraw even from her, at times.

There were even times when Ana couldn't help but think that her Grandma's death was what had started it all…and despite herself, a small shard of resentment twinged in her chest.

Only for it to fade in the face of how much she missed her Grandmother's gentle yet fiery spirit. Her fierce love for her and Ben…her whole family, really. Her soothing presence. She would know precisely what to say to ease the heartache and the grief she felt over her Uncle's—over losing him too.

In that moment, Ana missed her terribly.

Distantly, Ana recalled a story her Grandma had told her and Ben once, about when their great-grandmother had been killed, how Anakin had thrown himself into fixing his stepbrother's speeder, using the task to drown out his grief.

That he'd told her 'life's so much simpler when you're fixing things.'

It was something Ana could relate to intimately.

She found it was much easier to forget while fixing things.

And here she was, her own situation so closely mirroring her namesake's. It left her with an unexpected feeling of kinship, one she took a strange amount of comfort in.

So, following in her paternal grandfather's footsteps, since she was in desperate need of solace in the wake of her grief and following whatever that had been with Poe, Ana retreated to the Falcon and began to fix things. Pointedly ignoring Dr. Kalonia's order to rest and keep from doing anything too physically strenuous as she did so. She needed to do something. She needed to do something that would tire out her body and occupy her mind enough that the horrible memories and imaginations would fade. The ache in her collarbone was manageable, though working on the Falcon soon had it verging on too much. But it was an ache she could live with.

There were even moments when it made her feel better…

Besides, working herself to the point of exhaustion didn't sound so bad at the moment, either, especially if it meant a deep, dreamless sleep.

Hopefully one free of Force Dreams…her lip twisted bitterly at the thought.

She'd never given the island dream much thought. She'd even told Poe about it once, thinking so little of it that she hadn't seen the harm in sharing. But now? Since everything that had happened on Starkiller? Since the vision—hallucination?—of the Forest, of her mom? Her mouth had gone dry, her throat closing.

There had been more to the dream, this time. Or maybe she'd just been more aware…maybe she'd been able to sense more after what happened on Starkiller, after she'd pushed past the mental block she'd put up between herself and the Force.

That call, the need…urging her to…what? To find the island. To find what was hiding there. And overlaying it all…a comforting, subtle presence so elusive and so familiar…a presence she'd long since given up hope that she would feel again… One her subconscious now knew was…

Athara.

Her mother.

And she suddenly knew—she knew—it had been real. Or at least, as real as a dream could be.

She shook the thought free, gritting her teeth against the renewed ache of longing in her chest that nevertheless refused to abate. She needed to focus. She needed to let her work drown it all out. To sweat it away with the anxious, uneasy energy she could feel buzzing beneath her skin. From the realization that would inevitably follow the acceptance that her mom had been there with her on the Falcon; that she'd shut her mom out along with the Force.

That her mom hadn't abandoned her…but by believing that she had, Ana had inadvertently turned her back on Athara.

And that was a realization she couldn't bear to accept. Not when her mother's presence was something she'd longed for since that first, horrible moment in the medical center when she'd understood her mom was gone…that everything was gone.

Hence the fixing things…

Stepping foot on the Falcon again was more painful than any of the physical injuries she had sustained on Starkiller. She almost couldn't do it. But the urge to do something to drown out the heartache and the nightmarish memories and the longing for something, some link to her Uncle, drove her on board.

And, as she hadn't dared hope, as she'd dug around collecting the tools she knew she was going to need, the sharp edges of her heartache slowly seemed to fade.

As she sorted through the hydrospanners and picked over the jumbled collection of pilex drivers and wrenches, rather than inspiring her sorrow to deepen the way she'd half-expected each of her Uncle's tools to do, the familiar weights and textures in her hands had soon provided a strange sort of comfort. She could swear she felt him there with her.

Oh, she knew he wasn't really; he hadn't been Force-sensitive, so she knew he couldn't exactly become a Force Ghost—not that she would've been able to see them, cut off as she was even if none of them seemed to appear anymore anyway—but she nevertheless felt like he was there with her. If her Uncle Han were anywhere, it would be here, on the Falcon.

He was as much a part of this ship as the hyperdrive or the cockpit.

Because of that, she felt close to him here, and that helped. A lot.

So she had gone to work trying to set his ship to rights, starting with the landing jet decompression housing like she'd promised herself when she was dealing with the transponder mess. But that task took very little time and effort; it just needed some adjustment and tightening and it was done. Then, on her way back to the top hatch, she'd spied a loose coupling on the rectenna connection panel, so she took care of that while she was up top.

Once she was back inside, she had debated getting started on fixing the mess that had been made of her mag-control regulators, even going so far as to grab the things she needed to first disconnect the sublight regulation manifolds so she could work on the repulsorlift gyros without getting fried and to then start re-syncing the gyros. She didn't get that far, though, since as she was popping open the sublight engine access hatch, she realized that she should probably see how far Chewie had been able to get with sorting out the attempted tie-in job to the thrust control actuators and the resonance regulators. After all, if that wasn't fixed first, she'd just have to re-sync the gyros again once it was. With a groan she started closing up the sublight hatches.

And all thought of her uncle and her mother and her memories and that horrible, horrific night had become a distant shadow in the back of her mind, just as she'd intended. She was no longer thinking about what the Forest Vision meant or the consequences of touching the Force again would be or what the fallout from her spectacular loss of control to Poe would mean for their already uncertain yet still bizarrely stable…relationship? Could it be called that? Or was it still just a friendship, albeit a complicated one?

There was simply no room for any of it as she latched her focus desperately onto puttering away on her uncle's beloved ship as they'd used to do together.

Taking care of the thrust control actuators and the resonance regulators wasn't nearly as bad as she expected. Chewie had either been able to get far more done than she'd expected, the damage hadn't been as bad as she'd feared or some degree of both. Either way, with the regulators it was mostly just tidying and stabilizing Chewie's quick fixes and, since the actuators had nearly fried the attempted tie-in on their own, the bulk of the job there was mostly just a matter of cleaning up and clearing out the attempted bridging units. Then all that was left was some patching and rewiring on the actuators themselves and it was nearly as good as new.

With a groan Ana leaned back against the hyperdrive motivator, refusing to wish that her shoulder would stop hurting; she knew it was her own fault, so she wasn't about to complain about it, not even in her head.

But that didn't stop her from needing a minute for the pain to fade back to a more manageable level before she could even think of hauling herself back out of the maintenance hatch. She distracted herself by glancing over the hasty fix to one of the junctures on the motivator's fuel distribution systems; it was well done, she had to cede, though she couldn't understand why it would have needed to be done in the first place…until she remembered that Plutt or Ducain or whoever likely hadn't been doing a great job of maintaining the hyperdrive; but then, judging by someone's bright idea to put in a fuel pump, she changed that 'likely not' to 'definitely not.'

That then got her thinking about the fuel pump…she really wished she had shot Plutt when she'd had the chance.

It was another nice distraction…

Her train of thought was interrupted by a curious grumbling inquiry. Looking up, Ana saw Chewie kneeling at the edge of the hatch, waiting patiently for her to answer his question. Hauling herself to her feet, she managed to hide the grimace the ache in her shoulder nearly drew from her, smiling faintly at the wookiee as she climbed out of the maintenance hatch and settled on the ledge beside him.

"I was working on the thrust control actuator," she explained, trying her best not to let him see just how much her body hurt just then…he would likely forego asking her to return to the medical centre and just skip to carrying her there instead. "I think I have it and the resonance regulators squared away; I just need to get the mag-control regulators fixed up now. I was planning on getting started on those next, actually…unless you think the fuel pump should be done first." The wookiee simply stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Ana had never been quite as good at reading Chewie as her uncle had been, but she knew him well enough that she could usually figure him out. On this occasion, she was drawing a blank.

But then her gut twisted as she realized maybe he wasn't pleased, or was maybe even angry that she had simply gone ahead and started working on the Falcon. She could feel the blood leaving her face at the thought. She dropped her gaze, suddenly unable to look at him.

"I—I'm sorry. Chewie, I should have asked before I—I just—I—" Her hand lifted to cradle her face, her head feeling suddenly heavy. Force, her whole body felt heavy. And she hated that she suddenly felt on the verge of tears again. She usually had much better control than this. She felt awful. She hadn't even considered how Chewie would take her working on the Falcon so soon after—

But then his furred arm was wrapping around her shoulder, pulling her in close against his side as a low, comforting rumble vibrated against her cheek.

More relieved than she could say, Ana leaned into the wookiee's hug as he assured her it was okay, that he understood her need to work on the Falcon, to do something. He then pointed out he'd been working on the sublight modulators outside himself, earning a smile from her when he started lightly complaining that they looked like they hadn't been cleaned out since he'd last done it.

But then he told her that the mag-control regulators were going to have to wait. Ana looked up to him with confusion.

"Why?" she blurted. He chuffed with amusement before explaining that he and Rey—the girl, Ana realized belatedly—were getting ready to leave on a mission; they had been asked by Leia to follow the map…

…to find her Father.

Ana suddenly felt like the Falcon itself was sitting on her chest. She couldn't help but stare at Chewie with hurt astonishment.

"Why didn't she ask me?" Talking around the ship-sized weight on her chest was hard, but she managed it without sounding too distraught. Chewie knew anyway, his voice distinctly sympathetic when he pointed out that not only did they need to reach Luke as quickly as possible since the First Order was undoubtedly coming for them, but she hadn't been cleared for missions because of her injury.

Not to mention she'd been hiding from everyone.

A flicker of irritation went through her and she was perfectly okay with allowing it to drown out the hurt Chewie's explanation had also caused.

"That's beside the point," she said back. It was supposed to be scathing, but she just ended up sounding sad. She was almost immediately berated herself for letting herself sound so disappointed, trying to convince herself she wasn't…or at least that she shouldn't be.

It didn't work.

Chewie stood then, offering her a hand up, which Ana was nearly reluctant to take. But learning that some random girl was going with Chewie to find Luke Skywalker—her own Father—had left Ana feeling far more emotionally drained and hurt than she was comfortable with. Taking the large, paw-like hand, Ana almost didn't need to do any of the work herself, the wookiee pulling her to her feet almost as soon as she had taken his hand.

Only to start as Chewie spoke once more.

"Aunt Leia wants to see me?" Ana repeated dully, "why? So she can tell me herself that she doesn't want me to go after my own father?" Only to yelp in surprise as a heavy hand cuffed her lightly on the back of the head. She scowled up at Chewie. "What was that for?" He actually chortled as he answered. Her scowl deepened.

"Well, maybe I don't want to go." And Chewie sobered, looking mournfully down at her as he countered her answer with one of his own. She looked back sullenly. He was convinced Leia was going to insist Ana come with. Well? Ana didn't want to. She'd confronted enough ghosts for the time being.

"No, Chewie. Besides, like you said: the First Order's on their way here. They'll need every hand to help with the evacuation. And every pilot." Chewie looked entirely unconvinced.

Then again, Ana wasn't wholly convinced herself, no matter how firmly she told herself she was.

But the wookiee didn't argue the point, knowing her well enough to know when she was verging on digging in her heels. Instead he just pulled her into a final reassuring hug before watching Ana descend the boarding ramp.

Turning as she reached the bottom, Ana caught a glimpse of the wookiee as he retreated to the cockpit. A sudden and powerful urge to go with anyway bloomed in Ana then, but she quickly fought to tamp it down. Why should she want to, she struggled to convince herself. After everything that happened? She hadn't been pulling excuses out of the air either. If the First Order was coming, they were going to need her, and she wanted to help. The Resistance was going to need all the help it could get if it was going to survive.

And bringing Luke Skywalker back wouldn't help? She shook the thought away. Perhaps he could, but Ana knew if she were to go, that would not be the reason. But after the way her father had abandoned her? She should never want to see him again! She kept telling herself she didn't want to see him again.

But she couldn't deny it either.

Part of her almost desperately wanted to go.

And Ana couldn't even manage to hate herself for it.

She was so caught up in her own internal battle that she was nearly thrown off balance as hard metal body nudged against her hip. Fighting back a curse, she looked down at the astrodroid next to her.

"Artoo, watch it! What was that for," she scolded lightly, unable to help the grin that tugged at her lips. Artoo snickered, as did N3 behind him. She shot the two astrodroids an exasperated look before finding her eyes drawn back to the Falcon's boarding ramp. Artoo warbled questioningly. Ana's eyes snapped back to the blue and white droid. She sighed.

"I imagine you're going along too?" she asked, ignoring his question asking if she was alright. He answered in the affirmative before making a rather raspberry-ish sound in admonishment for not answering him and asking if she was coming along too, a question N3 seconded. She looked between the two of them, her eyes narrowing as she began to suspect they were about to gang up on her.

"No, I'm not. I'm not cleared for missions because of my crash on Starkiller," she explained, forcing herself to sound unconcerned. Artoo made another raspberry sound. Ana wrinkled her nose at him, only to have N3 start babbling at her himself. She couldn't help the outraged sound that escaped her before she answered.

"Yes, that is a real reason. Besides, maybe I don't want to go." They both stared up at her in silence, giving Ana the distinct impression that they were doing so with skepticism. She huffed. "Fine. I suppose I…sort of…do. Happy? But that doesn't change that I'm not cleared to. Neither have I been asked to." It was N3 who made the raspberry sound next, his whistling-beeping response sounding almost like he was daring her. She frowned.

"I wasn't a Commander last time I stowed away, N3. And I'm not that blithe about ignoring orders. I'm not about to desert my post just because I want to, now, am I. I ca—" Artoo interrupted her, earning himself a scolding glare that he ignored.

"I think I know that he's my father, Art—" N3 didn't let her finish either, insisting that he'd cover for her with the General, not that he thought she'd need to, before Artoo renewed his urging that she should be coming too. Ana didn't try to argue anymore, her suspicion that they were ganging up on her sufficiently proven. But after a moment she sighed heavily, her gaze sliding back to the boarding ramp of its own accord.

It was a small, hopeful sound from Artoo that nearly had her giving into the urge she'd been fighting since before the two astrodroids had ambushed her; she was so tired of resisting, what remained of her nearly drained energy waning fast.

"I—Artoo, I can't…" she said finally, her voice small and weary as her hand rose to rest against her forehead. "I—know I said…but I can't face him." She turned back to N3, "I just can't." N3 burbled sadly, trundling forward to bump lightly against her leg in sympathy. Sighing heavily, Ana's hand dropped to rest on his familiar green dome. Only to frown when he whistled softly as one of the flaps on his dome retracted. Ana paled at the custom compartment rather like one she knew Artoo had. It wasn't empty. Her breath hitched as she realized what was inside.

With a shaking hand she reached out, pulling the battered old lightsaber from the compartment. She looked to the green and silver droid in disbelief, turning it over in her hand.

"You've had this this whole time?" N3's confirmation was low and sad, sounding apologetic as he explained Leia had asked him to look after it once it became apparent Ana had cut herself off from the Force after everything that had happened; that she wouldn't have wanted it once she recovered from her injuries from the Academy attack if she was hurting enough to do that. Artoo's dark eye watched Ana as N3 spoke, not saying a word.

She looked down at her Grandfather Kenobi's lightsaber before holding it out to N3, her voice thick with emotions she wasn't interested in examining.

"I still don't want it," she said, deliberately dropping it back into the hidden compartment. The green droid tried to reason with her but she cut him off this time. "I don't, N3. I don't know what you mean about you and Aunt Leia thinking I'm 'ready' to have my Grandfather's lightsaber, but I'm not."

N3 just looked at her before solemnly stating she was.

And that her mother would have wanted her to go.

With that, he turned and trundled away, leaving a bewildered and immensely vulnerable Ana standing next to Artoo. She looked down to the blue and white astrodroid, hoping that perhaps he had some sort of explanation for her.

He didn't. He just looked at her in a way that could only be described as sad before turning himself and wheeling up the boarding ramp.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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