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Hello everyone...I'm back, with two weeks of free time. Thanks a million to my readers/reviewers. Here's your present. Happy holidays, everyone.


Part IV

A fierce battle raged over the water world of Mon Calamari. Planetside, you could distinguish the sinister forms of half a dozen Star Destroyers. Three victory-class, two imperial and one massive SSD. Executor, Darth Vader's flagship, Skywalker knew without a doubt. It was both woeful and hilarious how he and Vader often found themselves in the same time and space. The Force must really hate me.

Yes, it must have hated him, because each time he met Vader, he despised his father more than ever – his hatred seemed to grow exponentially – yet with every confrontation it was harder and harder to bring himself to kill him – or attempt to anyway. So much for doing and not trying…Yet another thing to add to the endless list of failures. He literally dreamt of killing the bastard…but even then, he never felt satisfied after putting his 'saber blade through Vader's black heart. Instead he felt a cold regret, an emptiness filling him, threatening to take over.

Not that he wasn't empty. He felt it in his every waking moment. No feelings. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Blank. Numb. Numb was good. That meant no pain. He lived mechanically, doing his duty and nothing else. He lived like a machine. Machine…Looks like you're following in his footsteps…

No! I hate him…I HATE him. I will never be him…

Denial?

No, it wasn't denial; it was true. He did abhor Vader. He did want him to die. He just was unable to make it happen. Not for lack of will, really…Whether he liked it or not, it was becoming progressively harder to fight him. For the first time ever, he doubted that he would have the strength (weakness?) to fire on him, let alone draw a lightsaber. Then again, he had not been feeling very sane lately.

He dreaded meeting his father (Don't deny it, now) in battle, but he also had a responsibility, a duty – to the Alliance, to his friends, to Rogue Squadron…to Jade…Jade. She, with her beauty, her intelligence, her no-nonsense attitude, her sarcasm and dry wit, had begun to grow on him in the weeks since they'd met, and he found himself torn between his dark father and this woman – she was a woman as well as a fellow pilot, whether he chose to admit or not. Every time he went into battle, he prayed that Vader was lightyears away so that he would not be forced to choose.

The inevitable could only be delayed for so long, he knew, and it could be no longer. And, as the dogfight continued, he swore to himself that he would protect her. It was selfish, he knew, but he hated losing wingmen, and she was rapidly becoming more than that. Though he was a Jedi – more or less – he was also human. Such was human nature, and he could not help but submit.

Thankfully, Vader was nowhere near her at the moment – on Executor, he sensed. He pictured Executor exploding in a cloud of flames, imagined his Force signature winking out into the darkness of space – if only that were a reality…Concentrate, stupid…focus, don't think…no time...fire…He didn't have to think out his actions – the fighter was an extension of his body, but his mind seemed to separate from that body. Once again, his shot hit its target, the TIE now a shower of sparks around a ball of fire. Inside, someone died.

And so the battle went on. With each well-placed shot, a presence was snuffed out. It was draining, as usual – it always felt this way; he should have gotten used to it but never had. Except something within him laughed hatefully, reveling in it, screaming the word die each time he fired. It frightened him. It was him.

He forced himself to return focus to the fighting, giving his all to win, to wade through the sea of fighters and their fire…to kill as many as possible? No, not to kill; that was not the Jedi way…Some Jedi you are. In the midst of all this, he'd forgotten about protecting…Jade! Where was she? Rapidly scanning with the Force his surroundings, he found her spiraling down – though there really was no down – towards the huge azure sphere below. Rogue Squadron needed him badly – he was the one that had made them (in)famous, but at the moment, he felt that Jade needed him more. They wouldn't die – would they? He knew she would. I must save her…even if it means abandoning them…Sighing, he spoke into the comm.

"Wedge, you're gonna have to take over for this one – my fuel cells are fried; I don't think I can last very long…" It was a lie – they were fine, but he had to get down there without getting court-martialed for desertion – he'd gotten away with it once, but he did not think that even his reputation would save him a second time. Don't you hate lies?

Down there, it would have been peaceful, the waters calm, had he not been frantically searching for her downed X-wing. He scanned the sparkling waters, finding nothing…wait…There it was, a smoking mass of metal near a coral reef, sinking…Was she in it? No; the Force told him otherwise. Then she's in the water!

"Artoo, I'd like you to fly this thing for now." Artoo beeped a somewhat alarmed question.

"I have to do this. Trust me."

Instructing the little droid to fly low and very slowly and giving the directions, he undid his crash restraints. Stripping off his flightsuit in record time, he dove headfirst into the lagoon. He was submerged in a tranquil, noiseless world, but the calm was disturbed by the urgent pounding in his brain…fear.

And there she was, her limp form falling further into the dark, murky depths, the last rays of the sun falling and reflecting off the copper strands swimming around her pale face. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. Propelling himself toward her, he scooped her up and soared towards the surface. They broke the water. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter than that first breath he took.

There he was, sitting in an X-wing, soaked to the bone, having abandoned his squadron for the life of a virtual stranger, with said unconscious stranger sprawled on his lap. He could not help noticing what a beautiful stranger she was. Giving in to the urge to kiss her, he settled in to fly again – he still had a duty to fulfill.

The situation had deteriorated drastically. He had returned into the middle of an outright massacre. The rebels had taken quite a blow and were retreating; he'd lost another man. Wes Janson. Dead. Relatively speaking, the loss was a small one; this was a war. That did not change the fact that he was gone, forever, and that there would never be another like him. His throat tightened. Jedi don't cry. The tears would not escape; he wouldn't let them. My fault. All my fault. Traitor. Liar. Selfish. Dark.

Mara Jade awoke in an unfamiliar room. White/ Clean. Smelled of disinfectant. She made a face. Sickbay. That was just great. But…how? How had she gotten there? Last time she'd checked, she had been shot down by an imperial fighter – oh, the irony – and had been struggling to get out of the X-wing. She had managed to free herself, but had not had the strength to swim to the surface…then? What had happened after that? She did not remember a thing after that…no, she did, a little bit – strong arms enveloping her, someone dragging her back to the surface…

Who could have saved her? A native? Where was she, anyway? This was starting to get very confusing. Just when she was about to go insane from ignorance and helplessness, the door hissed open and the last person Mara had expected walked into the room. She was still with the rebels, then. More questions floated to the surface of her mind. What of the battle? Who had come to save her? Unless…no.

"Jade, you're awake. You had us worried for a while." He said that with a grin, but there was that dead look in his eyes. It had been there since the first time she had seen him. It never left. Today, however, it had worsened. Why could she not see him like this? With each passing day, he sunk deeper down, and Mara could not stand it. But that was not the only thing that unsettled her. Skywalker also grew more unstable, as if there was a war within him. For all she knew, there was. Sidious' fault. My fault.

'Yeah...Sorry about that," She said, smirking. Then she took the opportunity to rid herself of some of the questions.

"So how did the battle go?" Why do I care? I'm fighting against them, aren't I? I only care about my master…But do I? I hate him. I'm his slave. Why do I serve him? Because she would die if she decided to resist, Mara decided. But could the Emperor kill her at such a great distance?

Skywalker frowned. His face looked paler, even wearier than as usual. He looked like he was about to break. Something scratched at her heart. It would not go away.

"It was awful. We lost a significant amount of our fleet and were forced to retreat. We also lost a squadron member." Mara's heart sank. She bit her lip. Reluctant as she was to admit it, she was growing attached to her fellow pilots.

"Who?"

"Wes." No emotion in his reply. Just painful emptiness.

"Pity. He was a nice guy. I'll miss him." She was not lying, for a change. Skywalker – Luke – whatever she was calling him these days, nodded somberly.

"Things like these happen in war." But the deaths were no less painful, she knew. A hush fell over the two of them. After five minutes of complete silence, Mara spoke up.

"So how did I get here? Don't tell me you actually went down there to keep me from drowning!" His face fell.

"As a matter of fact, yes. You would have died." Mara felt her eyes dilate. Why, that idiot! What was he thinking?

"You idiot! What were you thinking?" Skywalker remained unmoved.

"I do not regret it." Her anger spiked. The guy did not have his priorities right! He had a squadron to take care of! He was an officer, damn it! And she was not worthy. He should have left her. I'm killing him, and he saved me. This was unjust. So unfair – but she had never been one for fairness, had she?

"Well you should be regretting it! What were you thinking, risking the lives of others for my sake? You can't do that, Skywalker. That was desertion, what you did."

She had not realized that she was standing, pressing Skywalker against the wall.

"I know that, Jade," He said stiffly. "I know that. I couldn't let you die." No excuse, flyboy. Force, I really want to kill you. She settled for slapping him, hard. He did not respond – just looked confused…and hurt. He roughly broke free and started to turn and leave, eyes down, radiating sorrow, shame and despair, but Mara blocked the door.

"That was for being a reckless fool." She then roughly drew him close and forcefully, passionately kissed him. He blinked, eyes wide, then kissed back.

"That was for being there for me," She whispered.


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