We've reached week twelve of the Kessel Run, which means this challenge is complete! Thank you for reading along! The final prompt is: Write a longer vignette/one-shot of at least 2000 words using the "5+1 Times/Things" format.
To conclude this collection of stories, I present to you: Five times Mara Jade cooked, and one time she didn't.
Transformation (Mara Jade, Luke Skywalker, the Jade family, the Solo family; approximately 1 ABY - 13 ABY)
Her ship was still right where she'd left it, on the edge of an out of the way landing field at the quieter end of town, and Mara Jade sighed in relief. At least something had gone right on this Force-forsaken mission.
She'd barely hauled herself up the docking ramp and sealed it behind her before the familiar voice echoed through her mind. "My child?"
Mara cringed slightly. "My lord."
"You're late."
"Yes, my lord," Mara agreed, dipping her head low even though the Emperor wasn't physically here to see it. "There were—complications."
There was a moment of silence, disapproval heavy in the air and in her mind. Mara waited, trying to ignore the pain of the hastily bandaged gash on her shin. "Was your objective accomplished?"
"Yes, my lord," Mara said again. She swallowed the urge to apologize. The Emperor was never impressed with apologies. Failure was failure, and unacceptable. Being sorry after the fact changed nothing.
"Very well. You will return to Imperial Center at once."
"Yes—" Mara began, but he was already gone. She stood very still, just breathing, then scrubbed briefly at her face and limped toward the storage area where the medpacs were, selecting one and heading toward her cabin just down the hall. Settling gingerly on the edge of her bed, she unwrapped the makeshift bandage and spread disinfectant on the wound, a quickly indrawn breath hissing against the sting. Mara waited for it to subside, gritting her teeth as she examined her leg. It was only moderately deep, and the edges were clean. Unpleasant, but not dangerous. She affixed a bacta patch and thought about taking a painkiller, only to decide against it. It was her own stupid fault, and nothing she couldn't handle.
Her stomach growled loudly as she closed the medpac, and Mara took a deep breath, feeling the softness of the bed beneath her and the seductive pull of rest, real rest. It had been well over a standard day since she'd slept.
It had also been more than two standard days since she'd eaten, though, and the hunger won out. Wearily pushing herself up, she returned the medpac to its place and went to the ship's small galley, forcing herself to walk normally and thinking of all her favorite foods as she went. Seared shaak steak, fresh baked multigrain bread slathered with honey, sauteed mushrooms and root vegetables, juicy plaitfruit, hot spiced black tea. In the Palace, she could have any meal she wanted, any time she wanted. Never before had she so appreciated that privilege, nor so longed to make use of it.
But the Palace was half a galaxy away, and she was too hungry even to sleep, and she didn't know how to cook even if she'd had all the ingredients prepared and ready before her. She surveyed her assortment of prepackaged meals with a sigh, and selected one at random. Putting it in the cooker, she leaned against the bulkhead as she waited. If she sat down now, she might not be able to get up again when the food was ready.
She would eat, then set a course for home, then sleep. Her usual reports could wait for a day. The Emperor was clearly displeased with her anyway, to cut communication so abruptly. He was unlikely to contact her again before she reached Imperial Center.
Hopefully she'd have time for a proper meal before her next mission.
Mara surreptitiously slid her hand into her pocket, ensuring that the small bundle hidden within couldn't fall victim to pickpockets as she slipped through the crowd. As good a place as this city was to hide, it was rife with petty thieves. Generally speaking, Mara was more than capable of avoiding such nuisances, but today extra caution was called for.
She stepped carefully around a suspicious puddle—it hadn't rained for days, and she didn't want to think about what might have caused such a thing—and headed west, toward the less savory neighborhoods that had become so familiar in the past month, keeping a casual eye on her surroundings. The buildings became more decrepit as she went, the streets more narrow, the expressions of the passersby a little more desperate, and she almost wished that her connection to the Force was stronger these days, so as to have that extra edge of alertness.
Almost.
She turned left at the next intersection, sidestepping a Devaronian who'd already spent hours in a cantina, if his stagger was anything to go by, then another left. The row houses on this street had little to distinguish one from the other; if the hostel she was currently staying at ever fixed the cracked window by the front door, she might not find it again.
The first moon had risen by the time she arrived, and Mara entered the front lobby with a sense of relief despite the usual musty puff of air that hit her as she opened the door. Around here, it was best to be indoors after dark. Just because she could handle herself around the run of the starlane spice dealers and gang members that tended to frequent the area didn't mean that she should. It would only have drawn attention.
Attention meant being a target, whether it was for theft or assault or recruitment or a report to what was laughably referred to as law enforcement, and all of those things were an inconvenience at the least, with the possibility of real danger ever present.
No, the wisest course was to stay anonymous and to avoid as many connections as possible, no matter how fleeting. The fewer eyes she drew and the fewer people who remembered her, the safer she was.
A burst of raucous laughter carried from one of the front rooms, and Mara quickened her step down the hallway to her own room toward the back. It took three swipes of her keycard before the door unlocked, but she got inside before any other residents made an appearance. Locking the door behind her, she took off her cloak and checked her pocket again.
The bundle was still there, and Mara smiled.
Her room was small, with just a narrow bed, a wardrobe hardly big enough to deserve the name, and a little table with a rickety chair. But it did have a few extra features that Mara appreciated.
She now unwrapped the bundle and set it on one of those features: a fairly reliable thermapad. Turning it to the lowest setting, she took a bottle of water from the tiny conservator and set it on the table beside the thermapad along with utensils, then headed for the attached refresher. It had been a long day at work, and the odors of various fried foods and stale cigarra smoke clung to her hair. She was pretty sure she'd started daydreaming about a shower before the morning rush was over.
The refresher managed to squeeze all the necessities into a room so cramped that Mara could stand in the middle and touch the opposing walls without stretching, but even on a good day she was pleased enough to have the privacy that she didn't much care. Today she hardly noticed, relieved just to be able to finally scrub the grease and stink off. She was drying her hair when another scent reached her, the acrid aroma of grain beginning to scorch.
She lunged back into the main room, where a thin tendril of smoke was already rising from her precious bundle. Mara snatched it up, then nearly dropped it back onto the table as the disposable metal dish singed her fingers. It landed hard enough that some of the casserole within bounced onto the table, and after only a moment's hesitation, she scooped it back into the dish.
"Shavit," she muttered, shoving her wet hair back. Taking the spoon from the table, she poked at the casserole, lifting a spoonful to sniff, then taste. Mara wrinkled her nose as she did so; it was undeniably, irretrievably burnt.
It was also the only food she had left, passed to her at the end of her shift by a sympathetic cook, and even if she wanted to take her chances going back out to the nearest store, she had no money for anything else. Tomorrow was payday, but that did nothing for tonight's dinner.
Mara sighed, accepting the inevitable. She turned the thermapad off and left the casserole to cool long enough to put on her pajamas and comb her hair, then sat, deflated, to eat her burned dinner.
The glow of the setting sun bathed the apartment with a deep golden light, punctuated with random flashes from the speeder lanes where vehicles had begun to turn on the night-running lights. Mara glanced out the large picture window, admiring the view. She always had liked how sunset seemed to gild the various spires. There were some benefits to being back on Coruscant, after all.
"Can you grab that container of cara seeds?" Luke asked, breaking Mara's line of thought. She looked around; found it and passed it to him.
"Tatooine isn't really known throughout the galaxy for its culinary traditions," she observed.
Luke snorted. "That's the galaxy's loss." He added some vinegar to the bowl before him. "Now the peppers." Mara dutifully handed them over. "I wouldn't have expected decent food at Jabba's—not for anyone much lower than Jabba himself, anyway—but didn't you even get anything from street vendors while you were there?"
Mara shook her head. "Ration bars."
He paused to point a dried pepper at her. "And that is why we're cooking dinner tonight. You can't just live on ration bars, Mara."
"I don't," she said, mildly indignant. "There are restaurants in the Palace."
"Cheaper to make your own meals."
"Well, luckily I know someone who eats at those places for free."
"I'm not eating three meals a day there and bringing you leftovers. Now the prika." Mara found the proper container and gave it to him. "Are you watching?"
"Yes, I'm watching," Mara replied, rolling her eyes. "I don't know why, though. I'm not a cook."
"Anyone can be a cook," Luke told her sternly. "Even Uncle Owen could make decent ahrisa."
Secretly, Mara was pretty sure that cooking was the one skill that was utterly beyond her, but she wasn't going to admit that. "You haven't yet sold me on this ahrisa stuff being worth all the work," she said instead.
"That's about to change." He flashed her a grin that made her feel a little funny inside. Not that she'd admit that, either. Luke gave the mixture he was working on one last stir, then set the bowl aside and retrieved a larger one from the cupboard. "Okay, we start with the gazo beans." A large cupful went in the bowl. "Now the allium."
Mara handed it to him, eyeing the bowl. "Oh, no," he said, a glint in his eyes. "It needs to be chopped first. You get to do that. It involves knives, you'll like it."
"You're not funny," she replied, setting the allium down on the cutting board. "Which knife?"
"I'm very funny. And you're the knife expert. You pick one."
Mara glared at him, then examined his collection of cooking knives and selected one. "How do you want it chopped?"
Luke gestured vaguely and continued smashing the gazo beans. "You know, just chopped."
"That's not helpful," she muttered, but she made short work of the allium. It was a little therapeutic. Another thing to not admit.
"Okay, put it in with the beans," Luke said. "Then grab that spice jar over there."
Mara did. "What's in the jar?"
"A blend," Luke said, dumping a good amount into the bowl. Was he even measuring anything? "I'll show you that part next time." He mixed the beans and allium and spices together, then took half a handful of the mixture and stepped back. "Grab some. Now we shape it."
Mara wrinkled her nose, but did as she was told. "Shape it how?"
"Little balls. Like this." He demonstrated, then set the ball aside and took another handful.
She watched, and followed suit with her own portion. Together they rolled the mix into a pile of small, grainy-looking balls, Luke pausing midway through to take the haroun bread from the oven.
"Okay, now I'm going to fry them," Luke told her when they were done. "I need you to stir the rahsa paste over the vegetables." He handed her the first bowl with the vinegar-pepper-spice sauce he'd been working on and checked the pot of vegetables on the stove. They must have been done, because he transferred them to yet another bowl and gave them to her.
"I thought you were trying to teach me to cook," Mara pointed out as she began to carefully pour the sauce. "Shouldn't I be watching you fry? Anyone can stir. Artoo could stir." From the living area where he was plugged into a power socket and beeping quietly to himself, Artoo's dome swiveled and he gave her a mechanical whistle that managed to convey a surprising amount of disdain.
"Baby steps," Luke said. "Anyway, the vegetables are important. Get them coated with the paste as evenly as you can. When that's done, you can boil the water for the tea."
Mara obeyed, stealing glances at Luke frying the balls of ahrisa as she did. For as much time as she'd spent working in cantinas, the preparation of food was still largely a mystery to her. She'd certainly made plenty of meals in her time away from the Empire, but whenever there had been the option to purchase something ready-made or rely on ration bars, she'd done so, and when she had to cook, she chose the easiest possible options, things that came from prepackaged kits where she only had to mix things together and heat them. And even then, they rarely came out well. She always managed to either scorch or undercook them, or to leave something important out and not realize it until too late.
Luke, on the other hand, moved about through the kitchen with confidence, and just—knew things like how to chop and portion and cook. He'd told her about his Aunt Beru, of course, and how she taught him, but how had he internalized that information so well? And how had Aunt Beru learned? From her mother or father, Mara supposed. And them from theirs? But who had figured it all out to begin with? How much trial and error had it taken? And how was it that Mara could know so much about tactics and weaponry and languages and all sorts of things, yet not know something like this?
"Because you were taught those things," Luke said from the stove. "You just need to be taught this, too."
"Skywalker," Mara said, exasperated.
"Hey, don't blame me," Luke said, doing something to the controls. "You were thinking very loudly. This is almost done. How are you doing?"
"Done, I think," Mara said, pouring the boiling water into the teapot. She did know how to make good tea, at least. "Should I put all the rest of this on the table, then?"
"Yes, please." Luke found some sort of slotted ladle and started pulling the ahrisa balls out of the fryer, and Mara made several trips to take the rest of the food to the dining room, and to set the table nicely.
She'd just finished when Luke brought the ahrisa out on a platter. "You're not even going to believe you've gone this long without eating Tatooinian food," he informed her.
Mara raised an eyebrow. "Big talk."
"I'm completely right." He filled their plates with hearty servings of everything while she poured the tea, then sat down. "Go on, try it."
It did all look and smell surprisingly delicious. Still— "Don't just sit there and watch me eat. It's weird."
"Oh, for—" She glared at him, and he sighed. "Okay, see, I'm not looking." He turned to his own plate with rapt attention, never glancing up from his food.
"Don't watch me through the Force, either," Mara warned.
"Don't broadcast, then," Luke retorted, still not looking up.
"Mm." Mara watched him suspiciously, then carefully took a bite of the ahrisa wrapped in haroun bread—and felt her eyelids flutter shut in appreciation. This was what people ate on that remote dustball? It rivaled anything her own personal Palace chef had ever prepared.
"I told you," Luke said, smug.
Mara had to take a moment before she could respond. "I told you not to watch me."
"And I told you not to broadcast." Luke grinned irrepressibly.
Mara took another bite, savoring the blend of warm, smoky spices. "It's good," she admitted.
"Wait until you try the vegetables," Luke said, indistinct through a mouthful of his own dinner.
"I'm still not going to cook something like this every day," Mara said, a little regretfully. "I couldn't, even if I wanted to. I'm telling you, I always manage to mess up cooking."
Luke finished chewing and swallowed. "Tell you what," he said. "I cook pretty regularly anyway, and it's just as easy to make dinner for two as it is for one. You can come over whenever you want and I'll do the actual cooking as long as you help with the prep work and cleanup. Deal?"
Mara smiled, an unaccustomed sense of warmth spreading through her. "Deal."
Her mother's kitchen was cozy and bright and cheerful, painted a soft dusty herb green with very pale gray cupboards and copper fixtures and a tendency to get too warm when any cooking took place, so the back door was open despite the cool of early evening.
"Can you stir the rice, sweetheart?" her mother asked.
It took a moment for Mara to realize that the words were directed at her. The still-unaccustomed warmth of being called 'sweetheart' warred briefly with the wariness of being asked to assume any responsibility for cooking food, and she bit her lip as she picked up the spoon and did as she was asked.
"See, I told you you could do it," Corissa said cheerfully from her perch on a stool at the high counter that edged the kitchen.
Nico cast her a patient look. "Mom told her she could do it. Not you."
"I said it too," Corissa replied, affronted. "Or if I didn't, I was thinking it."
"She can't read your mind," Nico said, expertly weaving his way between Mara and their mother in the small kitchen to bend down and look in the oven.
Corissa turned back to Mara. "Can't you? With the Force and everything?"
"It's complicated," Mara said, scrutinizing the rice. "But even if I could, I wouldn't. Mom, does this look right?"
Her mother came to her side and looked at the rice, then smiled. "Perfect. Just stir it every few minutes so it doesn't stick to the pot."
"Mom," Nico interjected, "what's the estimate on the stew? Because the bread is just about done."
"Another fifteen minutes or so," their mother said. "Take the bread out if it's done; it'll still be warm when the rest of the food is ready."
Mara glanced over toward the dining room, where Luke and her father were discussing the latest models out of Incom. Dad didn't work on starfighters very often, but Luke always kept up on the new designs and Dad knew starship engines inside and out, so between them the conversation was animated and full of interesting (boring, Corissa had whispered to her; but then, Corissa wasn't a mechanic or pilot) details about various features. It was a conversation that Mara would have enjoyed being a part of, but tonight Mom was teaching her some basics of cooking, and despite her own lingering uneasiness over the prospect, it was going fairly well. Luke felt her glance and returned it, smiling at her before returning to the discussion about recent upgrades to the civilian U-wing model.
She smiled back, and stirred the rice again.
It was, in fact, only about ten minutes before the stew was done. Nico told Corissa in no uncertain terms that since she had just watched while everyone else cooked, she was going to dish everything up. Corissa argued that no one had asked her to help cook and there wasn't room in the kitchen for everyone anyway, and Nico pointed out that she still hadn't done anything and could do something now.
Mom, pretending not to smile, caught Mara's gaze and rolled her eyes, and Mara bit her lip again, this time to hold back the laugh that wanted to escape at her mother's expression of amused long-suffering. Mom stepped over to wrap Mara in a tight hug, then leaned her own forehead against Mara's for a moment before letting her go. "Corissa's right about one thing: the kitchen definitely won't hold everyone. You can go sit down now, sweetheart. We'll have the food right out."
"I can take something," Mara volunteered, strangely reluctant to leave, even though the dining room was only a couple of meters away.
"Bread," Nico said, momentarily lifting the platter high as Corissa ducked beneath it and past him to enter the kitchen, then handing it to Mara with a quick smile.
She took it and returned the smile, suddenly shy, and joined Dad and Luke, setting the platter on the table and sitting beside Luke. Dad turned his attention to her, his eyes warm and his sense in the Force overflowing with love. Daddy, she thought, and smiled at him before she realized it.
"I'm so glad you're home, Mara," Dad said softly.
"Me too," Mara said. It was hardly above a whisper, but she knew he heard. Luke's hand found hers underneath the table and squeezed, and she squeezed back as her mother and brother and sister joined them, and Mara thought that she couldn't be any happier, sitting down to a meal with her very own family.
Mara didn't know why it was so important to her that she prepare the dinner herself—well, with Luke—for the first family gathering since they'd returned from their honeymoon. It wasn't as though anyone expected her to do so, or would think any less of her if she sat out the preparations entirely, or even if she ordered the whole thing in. Mom had, in fact, told her not to go to any trouble, and even offered to bring part of the meal herself, as had Han. Luke had said he was perfectly fine cooking the whole thing if she wanted him to. And Dad and Leia still never cooked anything at all, while Corissa avoided it as much as possible, so it wasn't like there weren't other people in the family who didn't love cooking. Even Luke and Nico were more pragmatic about it than anything else, agreeing that while they didn't mind cooking, they mostly did so because they liked eating. Only Mom and Han were real cooks in the sense of finding any sort of personal fulfillment in the pursuit.
And yet, here she was, carefully sauteing peppers and allium and mushrooms and greenleaf while Luke checked the shaak roast.
"Almost done," Luke informed her. "Want me to put the pasta on?"
"I can do it," Mara said, giving the vegetables one last stir before stepping away to pour the pasta into the already-boiling water. She had pored over a number of recipes before settling on this one: a shaak roast braised into fall-apart tenderness mixed with sauteed vegetables and served over pasta. It seemed practical, combining various elements of a full meal into one dish, thus entailing less juggling of different preparation times. That was the idea, anyway. She stirred the vegetables again, a little suspiciously.
"They're fine," Luke said, amused. "It's all coming together just fine. You don't have to worry."
"I'm not worried," Mara replied. "Mostly."
"Mmhmm." Luke slid his arms around her waist from behind and held her close, and she leaned into the embrace while continuing to stir the vegetables. After all, a pleasant distraction was still a distraction, and the problem with an all-in-one dish was that if part of it burned, all of it was spoiled. The door chime sounded, and Luke's voice was a soft vibration against her temple. "You want to let them in, or should I?"
"You do it," Mara said, still stirring. Just a minute or two more, she judged; then the vegetables should come off the heat and await the pasta. Assuming that the roast was done…
She could feel Luke's continued amusement as he released her, and she made a shooing motion without looking his way. He kissed her cheek before obeying, and she could hear the front door slide open and other voices join his as she turned the burner off and lifted the pan to a waiting trivet. Han's voice, cheerfully gruff, and Leia's, warm and low. The higher-pitched small voices of the twins, followed by disproportionately loud and fast footsteps and Luke's laughter. It was astonishing both how fast Jaina and Jacen could run on such short legs, and how much noise that running generated, considering how small they still were. She and Luke had set up a miniature toy chest by way of a basket on the lowest shelf of the main room's storage unit, inspired by Luke's tales of how his Aunt Dama, Aunt Beru's younger sister, had kept a special box of toys for the visits of nieces and nephews, and the twins usually charted a direct course for it once they entered the apartment.
Another voice joined the medley, and Mara's heart leapt. Corissa. She checked the pasta again, willing it to cook faster so that she could go greet her sister. The voices combined and blended and she was so caught up in listening to them while also watching the pasta that she completely missed the new footstep entering the kitchen.
"Do you need some help, sweetheart?"
Mara felt the smile spread across her face even before she turned. "Mommy." The timer for the pasta chose that moment to go off, and Mara spun back around, reaching for the pot holders and sending a wordless summons through the Force. Mom stepped calmly forward, lifting the colander and setting it in the sink.
"No," Mara said. Mom raised an eyebrow, and Mara felt a flush come to her cheeks. "I mean, thank you, but I'm making this dinner for you. You're not supposed to do any cooking tonight."
"I moved a colander," Mom replied, her lips twitching with a tamped-down smile. "That really doesn't qualify as cooking."
"You know what I mean!"
"I'll get it, Nadira," Luke said as he joined them.
"She's very stubborn," Nadira told him, her smile overcoming her control.
"I wonder where she got that from," Luke said, grinning back at her.
"Luke," Mara said impatiently as she carefully carried the pot full of boiling water past them and poured it into the colander. "Is the roast done?"
Luke handed Mom the platter full of dinner rolls. "Here, you can set those out and get everyone settled. We'll bring the rest in a few minutes."
Mom shook her head, still smiling, as she took the platter. "It all smells delicious, sweetheart," she said, and headed out. Mara could hear her expertly corralling everyone toward the dining room. Dad, she judged by the sounds and voices, was predictably helping Leia gather the twins, while Nico and Han were talking ships again, and Chewie seemed to be telling Corissa about his last trip to Kashyyyk, aided by Threepio's translation.
Luke pulled the roast out of the oven while Mara carefully dished up pasta on each plate, then arranged the vegetables on top. Luke was right behind her, putting a serving of roast shaak on top, then Mara, having finished with the vegetables, followed him by sprinkling each dish with some seasoned bread crumbs while he filled two bowls with the remaining pasta and a cheese sauce he'd prepared earlier for the twins.
Mara stepped back to look it all over with a critical eye, counting the plates again, checking that all the servings were equal and no step had been missed.
"It's not a combat mission, you know," Luke said gently, glancing over at her as he finished the twins' bowls.
Mara bit her lip. "No," she agreed softly. "It's more important than that."
Luke reached over to take her hand, entwining their fingers, and waited. Mara took a moment longer to run through her mental checklist for each plate, then squeezed his hand and pulled hers free. "Okay," she said, looking over at him. "I think it's ready."
"It all looks great," he assured her, picking up two plates as she began stacking several along her arm. "They're going to love it."
Mara took a deep breath and followed him to the dining room, where everyone, the whole family on both sides, was seated and turned, conversations pausing, to watch them enter.
Then the conversation picked right back up, various exclamations greeting them or remarking about the food, and Nico smiled at Mara and stood. "Come on, Cor, let's go get the rest of it."
Corissa pushed back her chair and followed him, only pausing to complain, "How am I supposed to hug you when you're carrying half the kitchen?" as she passed Mara. Mara bit back a smile, old memories of working in cantinas mixing with the present moment. Corissa, she rather thought, would have been a terrible serving girl. She would have argued with the customers and scolded her co-workers and forgotten orders and started a few brawls herself rather than defusing them, and probably everyone would have loved her anyway. How the two of them could be so closely related and yet so different, Mara would never know.
Luke set the plates he was carrying in front of Mom and Dad while Mara presented hers to Han and Leia and Chewie. Anakin was miraculously sleeping through the commotion, his carrier settled carefully in the corner.
"It looks wonderful, Mara," Dad told her, as Mom thanked Luke.
"Yes," Leia agreed, picking a mushroom out of her own dish to offer it to Jacen. "Han will hardly let me into the kitchen when he's cooking. I'm impressed."
"Mara!" Jaina demanded, and Mara finished setting her plates down and bent over to give each twin a hug as Chewie growled something.
"Right?" Han agreed, the words coming out in a lazy drawl despite the sharp assessment so obviously going on behind his eyes. "She's come a long way. Unless, of course, Luke made it all and is covering for her."
Mara sent him a look, while Luke snorted. "Hey, I just followed directions. She picked out the recipe and did all the actual cooking."
"Of course she did," Nico said as he returned and set more plates down. "You really think that cooking was ever going to defeat her?"
Mara bit her lip again, smiling at her brother, but before she could say anything Corissa set down her own dishes and practically launched herself into Mara's arms. "Mara, Mara, Mara," she said, squeezing so tightly that Mara had to put some conscious effort into an inhale. "I missed you and I got the lead role that I was auditioning for and Nico bought a new speeder and I want to hear all about Garqi except for the leech story you sent, that was so gross, and I'm so hungry what did you make?"
"Shaak roast," Mara answered, squeezing back before extricating herself from the embrace.
"Corissa," Mom said with a sigh, "let's leave the leech mentions for after dinner, shall we?"
"It was Mara's story," Corissa argued, taking her seat and reaching for a roll.
Nico rolled his eyes. "So be quiet for a few minutes and let her tell a different one. How was Garqi, anyway?"
"Humid," Luke said dramatically, and it was Mara's turn to roll her eyes.
"I've been to Yavin IV, you know. Garqi was fine."
"So tell us all about it," Dad said, smiling at her.
The last bit of nervousness melted away, and Mara sat down to the dinner she'd made, and began telling her family about the destination she and Luke had chosen, feeling comfortable and happy and secure and loved.
There was a clatter of pots and lids, and Mara looked up from her seat at the dining room table to the kitchen, where her husband and her mother were cooking together.
Her husband and her mother. For most of her life, the thought of having either would have been completely unimaginable. And now…
Mara smiled and rested her hand on her stomach, then returned her attention to the plans before her as Dad drew a finger across them and shook his head.
"We'd been wondering who would buy that lot," he remarked. "It was an odd thing to have such a large piece of land go on sale in this area."
"It was perfect," Mara said. The sheets of flimsi before them were divided between the flat-holos and technical details of the property as it currently was and the written and drawn plans that she and Luke had been working on for the past year. "It's a shame the developer went out of business, of course, but we couldn't have asked for anything more suited for our purposes."
Dad looked up at her, his brown eyes intense. "Mara, you know there's nothing in the galaxy that your mother and I would love more than to have you living so close. But you are sure?"
"We're positive," Mara assured him. "We've been watching Contruum real estate for the past year, anyway. When this one came up, of course we pounced on it. It's hardly five minutes away from you by speeder. We could walk over if we wanted. And it's a beautiful piece of property, with all the room we could hope for to build an academy, and to expand it as the Order grows. We have an appointment with an architect next week to talk about drawing up proper blueprints. We can have a house of our own, and a few larger buildings for the academy, and housing for the students and their families. It's everything we were hoping for—more, being so close to you."
Dad smiled, but there was still an air of worry around him. "Yes, but Coruscant has far more amenities than even a place like Contruum does."
Mara shook her head. "Coruscant has amenities, yes. It also has the seat of government, and the longer we stay close to that, the more we're expected to be an active part of it. Luke and I agreed a long time ago that we don't want the Order tied to the government that way. We'll wind up being contract diplomats and soldiers. We don't want that, and we certainly can't afford it now, when there's so much work to be done even to establish an Order at all. We need to find students, learn how to teach them, decide exactly what the Jedi should be as individuals and as a group. Governmental involvement will only delay that, or take us off that path altogether."
"I trust your judgment on that, and Luke's," Dad said. He tapped the table a little restlessly, and she knew his concerns weren't fully assuaged. "His family still lives on Coruscant, though."
Mara set her hand on his, pausing the tapping. "Daddy, they can visit here more easily than all of you can visit Coruscant, especially with Nico and Corissa settling into their careers here. In fact, Han will be thrilled to have the excuse to drag Leia away more often. Besides, we hope that in a few years, we might be able to convince her to retire and join us. The government is stable, and there are far more competent politicians than there are potential Jedi. There's plenty of room on the property for them to build a house of their own, too, and then we could all be together all the time."
"That would be nice," Dad agreed. "But I admit that having you here is the best part for me."
"For me too," Mara said softly. "Especially now."
Dad lifted a hand to cup her cheek. "I can hardly believe that my baby is having her own baby."
"I can hardly believe it myself," Mara admitted. "Another reason the timing with the property is perfect: we want to be with you ourselves, but we also want her to grow up with her grandparents, and her aunt and uncle. And maybe some more cousins before long, too. I'll be surprised if Nico and Rielle don't get married soon."
"That does seem likely," Dad said with a chuckle. "Your brother is head over heels for her."
"She adores him, too," Mara returned. "Do you think the family can handle another artist?"
"We'll just have to find more wall space to hang the extra paintings," Dad said. "It's Corissa I'm worried about. Force help us if she also winds up marrying someone just like herself. That sort of energy doubled would be exhausting."
Mara laughed. "I can't wait to meet the person who convinces her to settle down. Assuming he exists."
Dad smiled at her, worlds of love in his eyes. "It's a pretty good family we've managed to make, isn't it?"
"The best," Mara said softly, as Mom and Luke joined them, setting steaming dishes on the table. "The very best."