Hello again! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, and indeed, anyone who read this little story at all. Dovasary, thank you for adding this to the story alert list and being my first reviewer on this site ever. You couldn't have broken me in any gentler.

As promised, here is part two of this three part ficlet. For those who are not familiar with the Expanded Universe, Ben Skywalker is the child of Luke Skywalker and his wife Mara Jade Skywalker, as outlined in the book series the New Jedi Order. He's a relatively new character, but I thought I'd take a shot as his characterization. For those who have read the entire EU books, go easy on me, I'm only on Star by Star so far.

Criticism and reviews are much appreciated. I've now turned off the anonymous review blocker. Heh, heh.

Disclaimer: Same. It's George Lucas' and not mine. Bummer.

Later, on my way to visit my dad and R2, I am still pondering the meaning of the whole autograph incident. To me, it doesn't seem right that I should be thought of as a hero just because of my last name. Or, because of my first name, a nickname of an old Jedi who was so many things on so many different levels.

I haven't done anything to deserve any of this—admiration or disgust.

Well, maybe I have done a few things to deserve the disgust part. But probably only from my mother.

The point is, the name is known the galaxy over, mostly because of my famous father, but also because of my infamous grandfather. How does one escape that?

"SKYWALKER!"

I jump and automatically turn as a rough voice I know so well suddenly shouts (in livid fury) out the very name I've been pondering. It takes me a moment to realize that her attention is not focused on me however, as her green eyes are blazing fire at my dad's quarters, which I am rapidly approaching.

I shake my head and stop in my tracks, unnoticed by my determined and furious mother. You'd think after all these years she'd stop calling dad by his last name—because of course, it's hers now as well. But old habits die hard I guess. Proof being that mom still hides knives up her sleeves and that dad still tinkers with that ancient X-wing.

The door to my dad's office opens up and a familiar astromech droid rolls through, beeping happily. He pauses a moment as he spies my mother—still stalking furiously in my general direction—and then, recognizing her famous temper (somewhat tamed but still present in the now Jedi Master) quickly rolls to the left, and straight into me.

"Ouch," I mumble as R2 beeps indignantly at me, drawing himself up on two legs and wobbling back and forth in a very human way in frustration.

"Sorry," I look pointedly at him. "But I'm trying to avoid her as much as you are."

R2 keens his agreement. And putting down his third leg again, he trundles over to my side, perhaps curious in some strange droid-like way, to see what transpires.

I hear my dad's voice from inside the room for only a second before my mother enters the office and the door slams shut behind her. The voice sounds innocent—too innocent, and I roll my eyes. They're going to have one of their bickering matches again. No doubt dad touched something in her ship without her permission, or something as trivial as that.

A curious whistle brings me out of my reverie and I turn to consider R2 curiously. The droid's been in the family so long it's almost odd to think of him as just that: a droid. It's also odd to think that most species have trouble deciphering his language, even though it's only been after years and years of listening carefully that my dad and I can pick up any differences in the series of beeps and whistles.

Still, I decide to hazard a guess at R2's line of questioning.

"No it wasn't that important," I say to him. "I just needed to ask him a question. I guess I'll just go mediate on it now."

R2-D2 beeps and his domed head swivels back and forth. A "no"? I frown.

"Really R2, it's okay," I try again, but this time R2 rocks back and forth and whistles so loudly that I cringe and look around to see if anyone else has noticed the spectacle.

"Okay, okay," I put up my hands in mock surrender and settle myself down on the floor in the corner. "What is it then?"

R2 immediately quiets down and then beeps in a careful manner. I frown and then relax, stretching out with the Force to help guide me to what R2's really saying.

Tell me.

"Tell you?" I blurt without thinking. Then I stop and think about it. Well, why not? R2's as good a listener as any, and a much wiser droid than many in the galaxy could ever hope to be. And, as my dad once said, he wouldn't give up that little droid for anything in the galaxy. They'd been through too much together.

I shrug. "Sure, if you don't mind?"

R2 beeps willingly.

And so I tell him about the little girl requesting my autograph and how that's unsettled me, made me think about how I'm famous—but only by proxy. Famous not of my own account, but because of my father, and his father before him. Because of my crazy once assassin mother, my one time smuggler uncle, and ex-Supreme Chancellor aunt. Not to mention my cousins, one who achieved fame and immortality through a war-sacrifice death.

"It's not that I'm resentful R2," I say at one point when R2 seems to warble indignantly. "Or that I'm not proud of my heritage. But it's hard always living up to the dream-legend of Luke Skywalker, you know?"

I continue on before R2 can give any type of reply. "I guess I just feel like…like it's all been done. And I don't deserve to be lauded for something I haven't done."

I sit back for a moment and digest it all in. My father is a hero and I am not. I'm just a regular Jedi who's done a couple of missions and is still in-training. I haven't fought in any wars, rescued any people, or even built a lightsaber. My father has never pressured me, but I feel the urge within me to hurry, hurry, hurry, catch up to the legacy that precedes me. No matter what the cost.

Bzzzzzzz.

Yeouch! "Ahhhh!" I cry out and draw my hand away from R2's arm, which has just given me a mild shock. I swear and pull it away, rubbing at the slight burn mark.

"What was that for?" I snap at the droid, staring at him resentfully.

R2 simply and calmly pulls his arm back into his compartment and beeps a response that I translate instantly and inexplicably through the Force.

You know.

I scowl and start to say something more, and then stop, realizing R2-D2 is right. It's not going to do any good to sit around and feel sorry for myself just because I'm not a hero. It doesn't mean I'm not somebody.

R2 whistles happily at me as I realize what he's done and then beeps again in elation as the door to my dad's office flies open and my mother comes out with a very satisfied look on her face. Despite years of this, I feel a little bit worried for my dad. But only for a moment.

"Ben," my mom is surprised as she notes us in the corner and her eyes narrow suspiciously when she sees me rubbing my hand. "Are you okay?"

I stand up quickly and pat R2 on the head. He trundles off to complete some task, whistling happily, his mission here done.

"Sure. I was just talking to R2 and thinking," I add, grinning at her.

My mom snorts, "Your father, you, and that droid. You spoil him so."

I shrug. "Is dad busy?" I ask, trying to touch her through the Force to see if she's still angry.

She smiles calmly at me. "No, I don't believe he is. Why don't you see for yourself?"

I sigh. My mother is way too happy with herself. She's told dad off or something. "Okay."

"See you later son," she says sweetly, ruffling my hair before she practically skips off. The Emperor is rolling in his grave, I think ruefully to myself as the former Hand begins to whistle.

And I head into the still open room to talk with my father.