XCI. One.
As the air cleared and the blaster-fire echoes faded, one remained. She didn't bother to look around. The scene was one she'd seen too many times already. Blaster bolts don't distinguish friend from foe. Neither do desperate soldiers with no time to ask questions.
It was supposed to be a bloodless job, but the rules went out the window with a single shot. The rest was unavoidable. Not that anyone was left to question it.
Mathematically speaking, she was blessed. The odds of leaving the Cantina weren't high that night. That didn't make it any easier being the only one.
XCII. Three.
Groups of three are doomed to unhappiness. Someone always has to be the go-between.
"What do I do, Padme?" he asks one night. "If I do what one asks, I'm betraying the other. I don't want to be a traitor."
It takes her a few moments to answer. As she considers, she winds her hair through her fingers. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth, until he can't tell where each strand started from. Finally, she looks up. "Where does your heart lie?"
'With you', he thinks, and the answer becomes clearer. Everything is easier with four corners.
XCIII. Five.
Where will she be in five years? Working in the Senate, she supposes. Luke will be a full-blown Jedi Master, and maybe the Order will live again. Han will be wherever his heart desires, as always. Funny how the unpredictable are the easiest to forecast.
But will she be married? Or have kids, even, living with Han in their very own little home? The very thought makes her nervous. The future's so uncertain. She could fall in love with someone else by then. Maybe she won't even be alive.
It seems unlikely, but a lot can happen in five years.
XCIV. Seven.
"Is that all she's worth to you, kid?"
Luke looked down at the flowers in his hands. "A dozen?"
"Yeah. You can't give a bouquet that huge to a girl. It's cheap."
"Not sure I'm following you, Han."
Han sighed. "Too many is flashy. All it tells her is that you're desperate, Or that you're insecure, trying to cover up with an expensive gift."
"Oh." Luke plucked half the flowers from the bunch. "There."
"Half a dozen? 'There's someone else, and I'm too stingy to buy two separate bouquets.'" He put a flower back. "Seven, kid. Seven's the magic number."
XCV. Nine.
The last time they met, she was a girl (too fast becoming a woman), and he was nine years old. She's not sure what she expected. That same sandy-haired child, or some man who bears his name.
He doesn't seem surprised by her appearance. In truth, she hasn't changed all that much. Time has been softer on her than her little desert pilot. He's aged enough for them both.
The tall, dark stranger before her, a gangly youth on the edge of manhood, looks unfamiliar at first. But when he sees her, his face brightens.
His smile is still nine.
One- Leia, ANH-ESB
Three- Anakin, RotS
Five- Leia, RotJ
Seven- Luke, ANH-ESB
Nine- Padme, AotC