During her teenage years, when something upset her, Satine would run to the white rocky path near her Kalevala house and take a plunge in a sapphire-blue deep pond. The cool water would restore her physically, as well as give her clarity of thought.

Now Satine would give a arm and a leg to take a dip in that pond. Instead, she was going through the pains of labor on a not-so-large spaceship, with one quirky droid assisting her and one complete stranger witnessing the inevitable dismantlement of the collected character she outwardly portrayed.

She was uncomfortable and felt depleted of essential minerals, with a headache and a stiff neck. Psychologically, she willed herself to maintain her calm and push forward, yet she saw herself progressing towards a completely different direction, one that was full of demons and fears.

Most of all, she found it very hard to deal with the excruciating pain that crippled her. Truth be told, the contractions were bad, but they felt natural and were tolerable. What she couldn't really cope with was, instead, the pain originating from her scar.

Yes. The darksaber hole that Maul had burnt through her torso, the one injury that had nearly taken her life, that had kept her bedridden and unable-bodied for weeks on end and the consequences thereof she was still contending with, now risked to burst open again or - at least - so she perceived. The pain originated from the nerves, from the still-damaged tissues, making her feel like her back would split open or like her abdomen would rupture any moment. She dragged herself around the spaceship with a permanent grimace on her face, moaning in pain against her will.

"Bzzt pzz bzzzz?" F-39 asked, approaching her.

"No, please, don't give me painkillers. I don't want to be medicated while it happens" Satine breathed, her brow totally sweaty.

Cressidra, who was half hiding out of respect for the hospitable stranger's privacy, half attempting to make herself useful, approached her while spreading a few clean towels on the floor.

"You are suffering. Are you sure about your decision?"

Satine bit the flesh inside her cheek as she crouched herself in preparation for another wave of pain.

"Yes, I am sure. If I allow the droid to medicate me, I won't be able to feel my body anymore, and I can't afford reduced sensibility now that we are in this...clownish situation!" she roared, Cressidra taking a step back.

Twelve hours had passed since the beginning of labor. Satine imposed herself not to focus her mind on all the hypothetical what ifs, in a desperate attempt to preserve her sanity, a feat hard enough as it was now that she was completely alone. No family for support. No cozy home where to welcome the new little one. And especially, no Obi-Wan. She briefly wondered about the pain that he himself must be feeling in that moment at the hands of the Zygerrians, before the negativity that stemmed from their being helpless and trapped in their respective situations became too much for her to endure. She collapsed on the floor, twisting, a total slave of her contractions.

Four more hours went by, with Satine somehow emerging from them still conscious and relatively lucid. It was apparent that her body - which was still struggling to recover from the darksaber burn - was having a really hard time delivering the baby. According to F-39's readings, several of her organs were working way too hard, with a couple being on the verge of shutting down. At one point, she needed extra oxygen, which F-39 promptly administered. Satine was seriously tempted to surrender, notheless she imposed herself not to. Years of Mandalorian politics had forged her to be resilient and tough.

Cressidra did what she could by handing Satine wet towels the woman cooled her forehead with. She didn't say much, though she tried to lighten the atmosphere with a pun or two. She told a few anectodes from her sister's labor she had also assisted, with Satine barely listening. At times, though, Cressidra just withdrew into the shadows, when reminded of the loss of her own cubs. F-39 proved to be a steady, more calming presence, and a medical aid Satine couldn't have done without.

"Zttt bzt" F-39 buzzed.

"What? I am dilated enough to...start pushing?" Satine heard herself say, barely believing what she was hearing.

"Bzzt!"

"All right...so be it!"

Twenty minutes later, full of disbelief, Satine caught her baby the moment it came out of her. The physical exhaustion that was taking over her was nothing compared to the awe that holding her own child - at last - elicited.

Cressidra purred next to F-39.

Finally, the former Duchess of Mandalore could look into the eyes of the person she had carried for over 9 months, her only companion during her period of captivity, her greatest reminder of the tasks that were ahead. Despite the confusion and tiredness, Satine smiled, feeling an instant renewal of the bond that had already formed while gestating.

The baby was kinda bluish and barely weeping, perhaps tired out by a long labor, so Satine instantly summoned F-39 for help. The droid did what it could to heal and clean them up. Not much later, with Cressidra's assistance, Satine got on her feet. She was very hungry, but had to make do with what was available: dry, unsatisfactory ration bars, a few sips of water and artificial nutrition through her surgically inserted button when her stomach capacity "hit the ceiling". Satine felt frustrated, in tears, literally. She really craved a nuna leg, or something equally nutritious. She felt she owed good health to her child, something she couldn't attain right now. Wrapping her otherwise naked baby with her own fluttery gown, she limped her way towards a bunk bed, climbing on it so that she could admire the starry, dark universe from the porthole. That sight would definitely be the balm her nerves needed. The bunk bed would be their "nest" for the time being. She had informed Cressidra and F-39 that they would resume their journey after she had rested, giving enough time to the baby to prove that it was stable.

Feeling really battered, now finally lodged on the top bunk bed, Satine felt safe enough to release the breath she'd been holding since her escape from Serenno had started.

Her whole body was achy, as if a million pins had trespassed her at once, but she didn't care about it now that her daughter was safe and seemingly healthy next to her. Yes, the baby was a girl. She had taken notice of it right away, just as she had immediately found a resemblance to her father on her delicate baby features. She had tufts of what looked like reddish hair on her perfectly round head. Tufts Satine ran her fingers through, completely in love with her.

At 8 pounds 2 ounces, the baby didn't look skinny, and now was a healthy shade of pink, which relieved Satine. She knew her body would never revert to its original self after the impalement, but felt triumphant that the daughter she'd had with her beloved Jedi was whole, instead.

"What should I name you?" Satine wondered, feeling a tiny fist close itself around her index finger.

Damn hormones. The joy that she derived from living that moment firsthand was overshadowed by feelings of loss and extreme sadness. It was deeply sad that Obi-Wan couldn't be there to witness those moments as well. She knew him intimately enough to have the certitude that he would have loved to, therefore his absence hurt her even more. Then she thought of Mandalore - which was bleeding, of her family - which had been thorn to shreds by conflict and rivalry, and found herself wishing for something entirely different for her precious little gift. Something she wasn't sure she would ever be able to accomplish for her, nonetheless.

"Mara" Satine said, feeling sad.

Then she took notice of the stars glistening outside, in the darkness. They were little dots of luminous hope, who existed despite - and possibly because of - the cold desolation surrounding them. She then directed her attention to her newborn daughter once again. She reminded her of one of those bright stars, whose energy one had to put faith upon, from such a distance, like a precious gem. Like a jade in the rough rock.

"Jade" she added, stroking the baby as she squirmed lightly.

"Mara Jade" she repeated, quite positive that this improvised name would be the definitive one.