Often, Tahiri thought that Tionne Solusar was unjustifiably overlooked within the Jedi Order. Most knew her as an artist, historian, a woman who used her musical talents to educate young Force-sensitive students on the history of the Jedi and nature of the Force. There was no doubt she was a knowledgeable woman, a bright mind among the Order; but Tionne had been essential to Master Skywalker's efforts when he'd first begun rebuilding the Jedi Order thirty years ago. Despite her limited Force abilities, Tionne had worked closely with Master Skywalker in the Order's early years, spent her hours, days, months studying and researching for him, helping to find all the information on the former Jedi Order that there was to be found— all in the hope of building a new Order just as strong and dedicated to the Force and in service of the light. Since then, Tionne had dedicated her life to watching over and training newer and prospective Jedi students alongside her husband Kam.
But to Tahiri, she was a guardian. Almost like a mother, at times. Tionne had been the one to find her when she'd been just a young girl on Tatooine. She'd been just nine years old then, a lonely orphan long ago adopted by the local Tusken clan, but clearly an unfit match for the faceless, voiceless raiders of the desert plains. Then, Tionne had found her, recognized the strength of the Force within her, and invited her to a new home— a new family of others just like her.
While leaving behind the only life she'd ever known hadn't been easy, Tahiri had also been thrilled to leave Tatooine. She'd always had a curious mind, an adventurous spirit; and the endless Dune Sea and twin suns simply weren't enough for a young child like that.
Yavin IV had been thrilling for Tahiri— the moon a perfect opposite from the desert planet. Yavin IV was alive, thrumming with the Force between the Massassi trees and blueleaf, encompassing the rivers, connecting every insect, reptile, bird that called the moon world home.
But best of all were the people— the Jedi who would take her in, welcome her, become her family. And Anakin. Anakin, whom she'd proclaimed her best friend that very first day he'd arrived at the academy. Anakin, whom she'd dreamed about that first night and woke up the next morning to declare to him that she was sure destiny had brought them together.
And Tionne had given her that.
A home, a family, friends, her best friend.
And Tionne herself had been there ever since, a mentor and a guardian whenever Tahiri needed her. And she'd never left her side since.
It was for these reasons— because of the respect Tahiri had for Tionne— that she felt near queasy as she waited for Tionne outside the main meditation chamber of the academy.
Why couldn't I just drown myself in spice like a normal person? Tahiri found herself musing as she paced her living area. It would be easier to face Master Solusar if that had been all I'd done.
Tahiri had started her morning in the receiving bay helping unload the most recent cargo transport. Following an additional volunteer hour of meal prep in the kitchen, she'd made use of a private sparring room where switched on an old YVH droid, set it to 'Practice', and sweat until she could hardly see through the perspiration. It was all she could do for the sake of her own sanity. After a quick sanisteam, she'd made straight for the open hall where Tionne had suggested they meet.
It was midday, and the Jedi academy bustled with life. Students filtered through the halls in between their classes, apprentices released from their studies and practices filled the commons, easy conversation and laughter filled the foyer. It hadn't taken Tahiri long to notice how much the Order had grown since she'd left, how many new faces there were, students and padawans she had never met. She supposed their numbers were still just a handful compared to the old Order, but there was nothing small about the life filling this place, the community Master Skywalker had built in this new home.
The Jedi academy.
The new Jedi Order.
And Tahiri Veila was a part of it again.
The door to the meditation chamber opened and a group of young students no older than ten filed out. They giggled amongst themselves, a few humming an agreed tune and fumbling lyrics that recited the first students of Master Skywalker's new order and their respective strengths. While they squabbled over the particular order, Jedi Master Tionne Solusar stood outside the door and bade them goodbye.
"Bye, Master Solusar!"
"Have a good afternoon, children, and don't neglect to practice after your classes today!"
"Yes, Master Solusar!"
Tionne smiled fondly after them, and when they'd gone she turned her warm salutation to Tahiri. "Jedi Veila."
Tahiri nodded lightly in deference. "Master Solusar."
"Come, Tahiri. Let's take a walk."
Tionne took her back down the hall to an exit leading directly outside.
The planet of Ossus was an odd-looking world; centuries and centuries ago, it was recorded that the planet had suffered incredible damage from a nearby supernova, rendering it a lifeless, desert world. Now, some three-thousand years later, Ossus was part barren wasteland, part revived lush forest— the beginning of a long process of recovering.
It was a sort of ecological wonder to any scientist, a near eyesore to the resident Jedi, but it struck a deeper chord within Tahiri whenever she looked out upon the desert fields bordering the vibrant green vegetation. It reminded her of her childhood homes— both of them. The vast desert of Tatooine, and the endless jungle of Yavin; like some strangely perfect mix of the two worlds which had no lesser reason to exist.
Perhaps, not unlike herself.
"How are you, Tahiri?"
Stars, of course, Tionne was going to be all casual and gentle about this. Tahiri didn't know if she could handle that. Maybe, she should have requested to have this meeting with Master Horn instead. "I am well," she offered with the most hopeful tone she had. "I am thankful for the opportunities to help around the facility; they've certainly helped pass the time. I've made some use of the private training gyms, maintaining my regimen and refreshing myself on techniques I haven't studied in a while. I am humbled."
If the Jedi Master was surprised, she didn't show it. She actually smiled. Amused, Tahiri thought. Tionne tilted her head in a nod. "I suppose you never have been one to mince your words," she said with a smile. "But, in between all those words, I did not catch a single answer. Really, Tahiri, tell me how you are."
Tahiri shrugged. "I'm here. I'm trying. I don't know what more I can say."
She was relieved when Tionne didn't remind her of Master Skywalker's favorite adage: do or do not; there is no try. She'd always loved that blasted saying, she supposed, because she'd never been a half-ass-it kind of person. Besides that, it was such a simple truth— for Sith and Jedi alike. She didn't know why she'd said 'trying'. Maybe, it was because she still didn't feel like much of a Jedi.
"I know everyone is quite grateful for your help with the odd jobs you've picked up around the academy. And I am glad you are returning to your studies. Have you been meditating?"
So much for her own avoidance tactics, Tahiri mourned. Clearly, Tionne wasn't going to let her off easy this time.
Hardly, was the answer to the Jedi Master's question. Tahiri swallowed, her throat suddenly cracked and dry. "Some."
Tionne offered no reaction to that, whether it be disappointment or total unsurprise. "Have you spent any time with your friends?"
"What friends?"
"The friends you would have if you would allow yourself them."
Tahiri didn't respond.
"Have you spoken with Jaina recently? What about Anakin?"
Fierfek, this was not how Tahiri had hoped for this conversation to go. "What about him?"
"Have you seen him?"
This was a trap. This was most certainly a trap. Tahiri knew the answer— or, rather, she knew what Tionne wanted her to say. To think, and believe. Tionne would never manipulate her, or anyone— it was far from her gentle and compassionate nature. But she was pressing toward a point. A point Tahiri was set on ignoring. No, not ignoring. To ignore determined that there was absolutely and definitively something Tahiri wanted to reject. And that was simply not true because …
Tahiri clamped down harshly in her whirling thoughts, like a heavy fist smashing down on a pesky fly.
She didn't speak, and Tionne apparently took that as an answer enough.
"I see. And are you avoiding him because you fear what he will think about you or because you fear losing him again?"
Tahiri shook her head. "He isn't real."
"The one who wears his face?"
"Whatever he is."
"How do you know?"
"I know because I have mourned him for over a decade."
Tionne nodded in empathy. "As have his parents and sister. You spoke with Leia already, did you not? I have no doubt she would have told you about Anakin. Do you think her mad?"
Again, Tahiri didn't reply.
"Was she mad when she was the only one who believed in Jacen's survival following the Myrkr mission?"
"I don't want to talk about the Myrkr mission, and I don't want to talk about Anakin."
"But you would rather talk about Jacen?"
"I thought that's why we were meeting. So you could debrief me."
"Is that what you think this is?
"I'm sorry, Tionne."
"You said you have meditated some. Please correct me if I'm wrong or if I am overstepping, but I wonder if you might be holding off your meditations. Neglecting your meditations can be very easy when you're trying to avoid certain truths."
Tahiri had a choice: she could play it bold, strut in feigned confidence, ask the older Jedi what she supposed she might be avoiding. Or, she could speak circles around Tionne, run her ear with whatever nonsense she could come up with on the fly until, perhaps, Tionne pitied her and gave up. But she had already attempted the latter option in this conversation, and the former wasn't bound to get Tahiri far either. It was easier to keep her mouth shut, wait for Tionne to make her point, let the gently-delivered cruel reality grate on her— like one ship crashing into another, its bow scraping and dragging against the hull. Tahiri clenched her jaw— not in frustration or anger, but in a desperate struggle to hold herself together.
If Tionne could sense her battle, she gave no sign, offered no pity. The Jedi Master continued, "I am concerned about the guilt you feel, Tahiri. You are inviting suffering upon yourself."
Tahiri loosed a breath, but the weight in her chest remained. "It's alright, Master Solusar. I have no intention of allowing my suffering to lead me back to the dark side."
"But suffering does not just lead to the dark side," Master Solusar asserted, her pearly eyes clouded with pressing concern. "If you cannot face it and contend with it, it does not bring you any closer to the light. A Jedi does not seek and bask in suffering, Miss Veila. I do not doubt that you are more wary of the dark side than ever, and I would even place my faith in trusting you won't turn back. But do you seek to return to the Jedi? Do you truly wish to rejoin as a Jedi Knight?"
Tionne had stripped her bare, and all Tahiri had left was her conviction. She forced herself to hold her chin up as she faced her once-mentor. "The Order is my family, Master Solusar! Even if I've betrayed them a dozen times, I know nowhere else!"
"That is not reason enough to be a Jedi, Tahiri. The Jedi Order and the academy is more than a home for orphans."
Tahiri's eyes stung at the harsh truth. "I know, Master. Even though I was nearly an orphan when you first brought me to Yavin IV." She swallowed. "But when I first arrived at the academy, I knew it was meant to be my home. The Force— the Force is my ally, and it beckons me back to the Jedi. I know no other life, and I don't want another. I have drifted from the Jedi before, distanced myself, searched for a life outside that of a Jedi Knight, and yet the Force guided me back here. The Order is my home and family, but it is also my destiny."
As if that was the answer she'd been waiting for, the softest smile touched Tionne's lips, and, with it, Tahiri found that weight in her chest finally easing. "We have missed you greatly, Tahiri. There is nothing more we want for you than to see you return. But you must prove you are still worthy of being a Jedi.
"There is nothing to be gained from closing yourself off; whether it is from your emotions or from connections. How can you be one with the Force when you are disconnected from your surroundings as well as your own self? If you do truly wish to rejoin the Jedi Order, it is essential that you face not only your past but also your future."
Truly humbled, Tahiri felt the strongest urge, briefly, to rest her head on her old master's shoulder. Like a child who might run to and seek the comfort of their mother. But she held still.
"Talk to me, Tahiri. I can see your mind racing. What are you thinking?"
From her eyes to her jaw, Tahiri's face hurt with the effort of holding back her tears. She opened her mouth, and the first tear fell. "You were the one who found me on Tatooine. You brought me to Yavin IV, invited me into the Jedi Order. I can't stand to think how much I've disappointed you."
"Disappointed me?" Tionne echoed, though she didn't appear surprised.
Tahiri shook her head, quickly wiping her eyes across her arm before Tionne could see the wet trail of evidence on her face. "Don't say you forgive me. Tionne, please. Why everyone wants to offer up their forgiveness is beyond me when I clearly don't deserve it!"
"Deserve? Tahiri, nobody deserves anything. Look at Master Durron, Master Skywalker, Master Jade Skywalker! They each found their way from utter darkness and despair back into the light. Besides, child, it is not your actions while under the influence of the dark side that the Order shall remember, but your strength and courage in returning from it."
"I was weak to fall under Caedus's influence."
"But you were stronger than you have ever been when you left and fought your way back into the light. You are strong, Tahiri. You have suffered greatly throughout your life, but you have always persevered and you have survived. Why do you deny your strength, my child, when you are the strongest person that I know? It is of your strength and courage that I will sing to my students, and it will make for one powerful song."
Anakin had never known such dullness in his life. He could remember the peacetime before the Yuuzhan Vong War. Though his life had been fraught with constant galactic conflicts, the war with the alien invaders had been Anakin's first true war, and his early adolescent years preceding the war now seemed like the greatest peace he had ever known. But this— the last few weeks since he'd awoken from death— was different. He had done nothing, gone nowhere, seen nothing. Aside from what he'd been told and learned, these had been the dullest days of his existence.
He supposed that wasn't fair when taking into account everything he had learned, the new people he'd met. It was just that he had all this time to learn but nothing to do, nowhere to go, no chance to process away from the mess that was his new life. And the combination didn't mix well.
Anakin had hardly slept, woken up most nights with nightmares, panic attacks. He'd held himself together through so many breakfasts and dinners with his parents and sister until he could crawl back into bed, hide under the sheets, and try to begin understanding where he was.
Cleared for any and all activity by Cilghal, he had rededicated himself to his Jedi studies, meditating and sparring and exercising. He had begged his sister several times to spar with him, but Jaina always refused, citing that she had become a skilled swordsman and he wasn't ready to face off with her.
Later, Anakin had been humiliated when he'd reflected on Jaina's stubbornness and finally understood the darkness that had shadowed her face every time he'd asked. She would plaster on a smile, summon some of that wicked Solo mischief to her eyes, taunt him like the big sister he remembered, citing that he wasn't ready to duel with her. All while Anakin forgot over and over that the last duel Jaina had participated in had ended with their brother's blood on her hands. She was no less dedicated to the path of a Jedi, Anakin could tell, but she would need time before she could pick up her blade and challenge anyone again.
Instead, Anakin had mostly faced off against remotes which should have been child's play for him, but it became very clear very quickly how far from being one with the Force he was. Which was all the more embarrassing, he frequently thought to himself, because he'd accomplished oneness before he'd fallen on Myrkr. Tahiri certainly would enjoy giving him crap about it. If she were with him. Not that she was far.
Anakin's fingers twitched, and he took a long breath, collecting himself before nodding twice. Across the sparring ring, his cousin Ben reset the remote, and the device's lights switched to life. The remote glided shortly to one side, then back. Anakin followed it with his gaze, but he focused his awareness on the Force, on his own hands and the practice lightsaber between them, and let one guide the other. He caught the first laser beam on his blade, parrying it back at the floating remote. A few seconds and then the remote shot off another laser rapidly followed by another. Anakin caught them both, angling the shots off his blade and back toward his imaginary opponent. He managed to continue the volley for several minutes, maintaining his position as he warded off shot after shot rather than surrendering his ground to dodge the oncoming assault.
He was absorbed in the rhythm, attuned to the irregular, unpredictable pace of the remote. Perhaps too comfortable, Anakin realized as the remote picked up the difficulty and, while Anakin caught a laser on his fake blade, a second simultaneous shot fired and caught him in the calf. "Fierfek!"
From her spot on a bench where she sat and watched, Allana giggled. Just for her further amusement, Anakin hopped on his feet, wincing.
"You got lost in your head again," Jaina noted from the sidelines, arms still crossed. "You're falling out of focus."
Anakin took a breath before he could retort back at his sister that he already knew that. Receiving criticism from his big sister certainly wasn't new, and he'd learned years ago that Jaina's critiques always came from a place of genuine care, support, and the desire to see him succeed. But it was more than just advice from an older sibling; Jaina had another decade and a half of training over him. She was a fully-fledged, accomplished Jedi Knight. She'd slain Warmaster Tsavong Lah, become an influential member of the order in her own right, and been a critical force in conflicts and missions following the Yuuzhan Vong War. She'd slain a Sith Lord.
Anakin clenched his jaw to keep from vomiting until he regained control of his thoughts and emotions and could look at Jaina.
She was a powerful and strong Jedi, and he admired her.
He gave her a nod, accepting the criticism as well as his failure. If Jaina wouldn't spar, maybe Master Skywalker would be up for a few rounds; Anakin didn't doubt there was plenty his uncle could still teach him.
Jaina rolled her eyes. "I can feel you itching to test yourself against something more than a remote. Ben, why don't you get in there? Then, we can have ourselves a show."
Ben snorted. "No thanks."
Anakin's shoulders fill with disappointment. "Why not?"
"Spar against the cousin I've been hearing about since before I could talk? The great and legendary Anakin Solo who became one with the Force and killed a horde of Yuuzhan Vong?"
Anakin frowned, genuinely perplexed. "You just watched me fail against a remote."
Ben just shrugged. "Maybe another time. For now, I'm not taking my chances. With my luck, the Jedi who's been dead for thirteen years will wipe me out. I don't need to build up that kind of embarrassment."
Jaina rolled her eyes. "I don't know where you get your vanity from. Just for that, I should drag you into the ring myself."
She pulled off the threat with ease, no hesitation or regret, but Ben seemed to have figured out the same thing Anakin had and knew he was rather safe for the time being.
"What about you, Allana?" Ben spoke. "You think you can take on a ghost?"
The little girl blushed and shook her head vigorously. "My mom probably could, though. One day, I want her to train me."
Anakin was inclined to take the girl's word for it, and he was somewhat relieved he wouldn't have to find out today just how quickly the Dathomiri-Hapan Jedi could take him down.
"I think Dad's going to train me," Ben was saying. "I know he wants to." He rolled his eyes. "That should be fun."
"Uncle Luke is a good teacher," Anakin insisted gently yet firmly. "He was very patient with me when I was a student."
"And just babysitting Anakin required a lot of patience," Jaina added, causing Anakin to roll his own gaze and draw an amused smile from Allana. "Nevermind getting him to sit still long enough to meditate."
Anakin smirked to himself, remembering rather well what a handful he'd been as a child. "Although, it took Aunt Mara to knock some sense into me. She was a good teacher too."
Jaina nodded, a fragile yet true smile flickering on her lips.
"What's so terrible about training under Master Skywalker?" Anakin asked.
"It's not terrible. It's just …"
Anakin smiled a little. "He's your father, and it's not cool to train with your father?"
Ben blinked, nonplussed. "You have the life experience and memory of a teenager, but you sure don't have a problem handing out wisdom like you're as old as Master Yoda."
Anakin snorted. "It's called growing up too fast. From what I hear, you and I are a lot alike in that respect."
Ben rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, his gaze falling back to his lap where he fiddled with his own lightsaber. He didn't reply.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Jaina addressed the younger boy— man. "Jacen taught you Jedi skills— some, anyway. But he certainly didn't teach you how to be a Jedi. There is no better teacher in the galaxy for that than Uncle Luke."
"I know," he grumbled.
"Then, you might want to drop the I'm-too-cool-for-my-parent act. I tried that out once, too. It's not an attractive look. Especially with parents like ours and everything they've sacrificed for us."
Ben sighed, dropping the lightsaber hilt from his lap. "I know my Dad's a great Jedi Master— not to totally undersell it. It's not about some childish complex. It's just— Dad and I got on each other's less friendly sides a lot. Mom was always there to mediate, talk Dad down, or talk sense into me. We managed to get past it when Mom died because we only had each other to turn to. But we're not in fight-or-flight mode anymore; there's nothing occupying us enough to keep us distracted."
"And you're afraid of facing him."
Ben cringed. "I'm not scared of him. It's just— I don't know if we'll get along well."
Anakin was dubious. "I can't imagine Uncle Luke not getting along with someone who wasn't an enemy let alone his own kid."
Jaina smirked. "You can take the boy off the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the boy." Squatting to sit beside their cousin, Jaina patted Ben on the shoulder. "You and I should talk later. I used to butt heads with Mom a lot."
An idea sparked in Ben's eyes, and he pitched forward, startling both Jaina and Allana. "Anakin should practice against Aunt Leia."
"Against Mom?"
Jaina beamed brightly. "Mom is a fully-fledged Jedi Knight now. She trained under Master Sebatyne, made her own lightsaber and everything."
"You're kidding. Mom's fully trained?"
"Per her request."
"Why didn't Uncle Luke or Aunt Mara train her?"
"To quote Mom, she wanted someone who would challenge her. And Saba did not make it easy. But Mom earned her place in the Order. She's a tested and proven Jedi Knight. And I don't think you're ready to duel against her."
"She's that good?"
"That good?" Jaina feigned disgust. "Little brother, you're that rusty. Her skills with a lightsaber may not be her greatest strength, but she severed Alema's lekku and has faced plenty of worthy opponents."
Anakin grinned. "Sounds like me and Mom should face-off."
Jaina shook her head. "We like to spar with each other occasionally, but I don't think she can handle pointing a fake blade at her recently deceased son."
"Hey." Anakin pointed the end of his fake blade in Jaina's direction. "That's formerly deceased to you."
Jaina only responded with an award-winning eyeroll, but their cousin's wicked grin and silent laughter were enough for Anakin.
"Coming back to life sure gave you a big head," Jaina grumbled, but Ben was still smirking, now joined by Allana.
"Sweetheart, you're too young for Anakin's jokes," Jaina said, turning to their niece. "But he's not actually funny. Why don't you head back to Mom and Dad's quarters; it's just about time for your favorite cartoon."
Allana was a clever and mature child, and she knew when she was being dismissed so the grown-ups could talk, but she didn't sulk or whine like most would expect of a young child her age. Though she did frown her disappointment, she said her goodbyes and scampered off.
When she was gone, Jaina explained, "I thought the two of you could use some time getting to know each other."
Pausing his restless fidgeting, catching the hilt of his lightsaber in one hand, Ben quirked a golden-red brow at Anakin. "I've heard all about you. Famous saint-of-a-cousin who tragically died before I was old enough to remember. Trained by my father, adept in lightsaber combat, established revolutionary battle tactics against the Yuuzhan Vong and their technology, discovered Vongsense, built a lightsaber using a Yuuzhan Vong lambent rather than a known native crystal, was the first Jedi to begin to understand the Vong beyond their identity as the enemy, and accomplished Oneness. All before leaving your teens."
Anakin shifted, something ribbing at him, though he couldn't quite place the source of his discomfort. Naturally, he looked to Jaina for guidance. Unperturbed, Jaina simply said, "Basic history lecture."
And, just like that, Anakin's stomach dropped to his feet. "History?"
Ben's shoulders bobbed, and, from the way his eyes skated up and down him over and over, Anakin thought maybe it made him uncomfortable too. "If you're dead, you're history. Don't worry too much about it; Jaina's already in history textbooks too."
Jaina shrugged. "Comes with the family name. Soon enough, you'll be in there, too, Skywalker."
As little as that eased the sudden vertigo he felt, Anakin realized his discomfort stemmed from more than just the reference of his name in school books. He forced a choked laugh which didn't end up sounding much like a laugh at all. "Sounds like my full dossier."
Ben shook his head. "That barely scratches the surface. But anyway, it's like I said: I know all about you."
Anakin shifted on his feet. "Alright. What should I know about you?"
"What do you want to know?"
"You're my cousin. I want to know who you are."
"Besides the fact that I'm the best looking and most handsome in the family?"
Jaina shook her head. "Besides the fact that you think you are."
Ben scowled. "Well, I haven't done half as much as you have. I … actually, I haven't done a lot that I'm proud of."
A dark shadow stalked Jaina's face, but she broke from her brief rumination to take their cousin's hand in hers. "You were young— much younger than I was when I got involved in my first galactic-scale war. And you were impressionable. You trusted Jacen, and you never had a reason not to. None of what he told you or taught you to do were your fault. You followed Jacen just like any apprentice follows their master."
"I followed Jacen blindly."
"We were all blind."
"But he trusted me, and I was the closest to him. I should have seen—"
"We all should have seen, Ben. But you were a kid. None of the blame rests on your shoulders." She stopped suddenly, whipping her neck to look from Ben to Anakin as if just remembering that he was still there. Ben looked up to stare at him too, and Anakin began to feel more like a relic than a person.
The younger Skywalker sighed without so much as opening his mouth. "I think we have to talk about Jacen."
Jaina's eyes shuddered close, some great weight crashing down on her. "No, Ben. Not now."
Part of Anakin was glad Jaina didn't want to talk about their brother.
"Jaina—"
"I said no, Ben." There was a slim but distinct edge to her tone, sharp enough to Ben slinking back, offering more space between himself and Jaina.
But Jaina took a long breath, and Anakin thought he could see her collecting herself, broken fragments of her soul, until she opened her eyes, chestnut irises apparently serene.
"The last time Anakin saw you, Ben," she spoke, her voice growing stronger with each word, "you were only a few months old. And I couldn't believe how much you'd grown by the end of the war when you were just two! You know, Anakin, this doesn't seem so long ago for me, either. Finding out Mara was pregnant, meeting Ben for the first time, visiting and holding him in between missions and duties."
Anakin nodded, trying to move on with the same ease Jaina had. If she wanted to brush it under the rug for now, he could do that. He forced a chuckle. "Yeah, except you found out before I did."
"Not my fault you're so dense." She turned back to Ben to elaborate. "They kept it under wraps for a while, your parents; I think they wanted time to themselves to celebrate and prepare. She was a few months along already when Jacen and I found out— she was just starting to show. Actually, Jacen already knew. He'd known for months already. But I was so excited when I realized she was pregnant. Jacen and I were ten when Uncle Luke and Aunt Mara finally got married. I wanted a little cousin so bad for so long. But then Mara got sick …"
Ben fidgeted in such a manner that Anakin thought he might be uncomfortable. "Obviously, I know she had some illness for a while. Mom and Dad have never really talked about it, though. Besides telling me that she was completely cured once I was born." He hesitated, and Anakin saw a question forming. "How sick was she?"
He could see Jaina was shocked, and Anakin found that he was, too. It was strange enough to him that his cousin had never seen his mother ill and fighting for her life as Anakin and his siblings had spent their formative teen years watching her. "Has your dad told you anything else about your birth?"
Ben frowned. "Dad told me she nearly died. But I don't know how or why. Like I said, they never talked much about it."
"It was bad," Jaina conceded. "Not that she ever let it stop her. She was determined to live no less than she had before falling ill. But it was hard to watch, and we were so worried. You know how strong your mom was, how fierce and fiery. It started shortly after I'd officially become her apprentice. Uncle Luke wanted her to take a break from training me, suggested he or someone else take over the physical part as well as other aspects of my training. But Mara wouldn't have it. I remember watching her slowly deteriorate. She always showed her strongest face, always acted like she'd never been better. But she couldn't hide the toll it was taking on her. The disease Nom Anor had spread to her was unlike anything medics across the galaxy had ever seen; there was no solution or medicine but to rest, meditate, rely on the Force for healing and strength. She'd have episodes occasionally when the disease would target some part of her body, or a particular organ or system. She never talked much about it while she was sick. She didn't want us to see any of that. I know she didn't want the disease to define her, to limit her, or for anyone to decide anything for her just because she was sick. For Aunt Mara, it was as significant as a limp— it was a part of her life, a minor detail. Sometimes, it made things more difficult for her, but it never stopped her. And she would keep on living her life just as she always had. And I really admired her for that. I certainly would have whined or mourned more if it had been my body under constant attack."
Though he, of course, hadn't shared the same bond with his aunt as Jaina had being her apprentice, Anakin remembered those years just as well. He remembered watching the fire rapidly drain from his aunt, watching her strength and presence dwindle, her body weaken, her pallor gray. He remembered hearing whispered conversations between his parents that he hadn't been meant to hear. His mom getting off a comm call with Uncle Luke, Dad asking how 'the kid' was. And Mara? Then, Mom would begin whispering, expressing her concerns for her sister-in-law, and cry on Dad's shoulder. And he and his brother and sister were just teenagers. Not even Jedi Knights. They didn't know anything about healing like Jedi Cilghal. All they could do was act for Mara like nothing had changed just as she wanted, and help carry her when her body failed her.
Anakin took a seat on a supply container, closing the circle between Jaina and their cousin. "When Aunt Mara got sick, I figured there went any chance of getting a cousin. To be honest, that wasn't my biggest concern. I just wanted Aunt Mara to live, to get better. We never imagined one day meeting you."
Jaina beamed. "The war with the Yuuzhan Vong had cast such a great shadow, but things didn't seem so dark anymore. The Skywalker-Solo clan was getting a new member, and that was pretty huge. We were finally becoming cousins, Mom and Dad were finally becoming an aunt and uncle.
"Just before she'd become pregnant with you, well— you've heard about Vergere's tears, right? They started to heal Mara. But when the tears ran out, she started taking a synthesized version. Later in her pregnancy, it became suddenly clear that it was harming her, and it would have harmed you. She had to stop taking the medicine, let the disease return. Throughout her time ill, she'd exhausted herself using the Force to hold off the disease, protect her body, keep her organs and nerves and tissue healthy. When she stopped taking the medicine, she spent all of her life energy protecting you. Part of me is glad I never had to see her until after you were born, but I felt her. From across the galaxy, I could feel her life draining away. I could feel her dying. She'd been so sick and weak before, but she'd never felt like this before. Actually dying."
Anakin nodded. "We learned later that all of us felt it. We'd been stretched across the corners of the galaxy, but I'd felt it, Jacen had felt it, Jaina felt it. Even our mom. It was terrifying. Your parents had come to the Errant Venture, and I was just returning from a mission with Master Horn. As soon as we docked on the Venture, I wanted to see Aunt Mara, know if she was okay."
When Anakin slowly returned to the moment, he caught Ben staring from the corner of his eye. The younger man was apparently transfixed, and so was Anakin.
"You were the first one to visit after I was born," Ben said. "I've heard that story a thousand times."
Anakin caught a smile. "You were so tiny, so innocent, and new. I couldn't believe you were real. That I had a cousin."
"Mom told me you said I was wrinkly."
Anakin felt himself immediately flush. "You were! You just— my mom loves babies, but when I first saw you, I didn't get the appeal!"
"Appeal?"
Anakin threw up his arms in surrender. "I just thought babies were supposed to be cuter than that! Not so … pink and wrinkly. And ugly."
Jaina nudged Ben with a grin. "Don't worry. I thought you were a cute baby."
"In all seriousness, it was … it was a pretty big moment for our whole family. Besides finally getting a cousin, it kind of felt like a reset. Like a breath we hadn't yet caught. The moment I first saw you in Aunt Mara's arms, just a tiny, helpless, innocent baby— I felt a new hope. And it gave us a new purpose for the war, to make the galaxy a safe place for you to grow up in. The kind of childhood most of our family never got."
Ben grimaced. "Yeah, well, I spent some time in hiding with other kids of the Jedi and GA, so …"
Jaina shrugged. "Unfortunately, that's just a family tradition. But you got a few years of a peaceful and happy childhood. We made sure of that."
Until Jacen destroyed it.
Anakin blinked, rapidly trying to stifle his surprise at the voice. Though the sentiment may have been nudging at the back of his mind, the thought had come to him in his sister's voice. Leaning in towards Ben, Jaina was tousling his auburn hair lovingly. Like she always used to do to Anakin. And, in that moment, he began to understand the effort Jaina had and continued to put into defending and protecting her family. This was all she had, all any of them had. And it was too great a risk to not defend their family with their own lives.
"From the beginning," Anakin found himself speaking up. "Aunt Mara loved you more than anything in the galaxy, and she did everything for you."
Ben met his gaze, bright blue eyes fighting a not-so-distant pain. "I know," he swallowed. "That's what killed her."
Kyp Durron wasn't a drinker like he used to be. In his early adult years, following his brush with the dark side and something of an apprenticeship to the spirit of the dead Sith lord Exar Kun, alcohol had become something of a friend to Kyp— an amiable companion to his loneliness at best and casual hobby at worst. It had helped that it took a rather copious amount of alcohol to begin to blur his Jedi senses, and, thus, Kyp had never seen an issue with occasional— or, more frequent— cantina stop. Since becoming a Jedi Master and slowly finding his way to absolution, the desire had become much less frequent. Still, Kyp found something calming, almost anchoring, in the feel of a hefty mug in his hand and the cold bite of a good ale on his tongue.
Following the Yuuzhan Vong War, the Jedi academy and outpost on Ossus had undergone an expansion project. During the planning and blueprinting for which, Kyp had campaigned to Luke that building a cantina on Ossus was absolutely essential to the survival and strength of the Jedi order as Jedi drinking their feelings in cheap liquor had to be a much better alternative to the dark side. To his surprise, Master Skywalker hadn't laughed, lectured, or scorned Kyp. A few days later, Kyp's presence had been requested to sign off on the designs for a small bar outside the academy. The only catch was that Kyp found himself regularly assigned to watch duties at the bar, tasked with watching for any underage students trying to sneak in.
So long as he had a few minutes to himself without worries of the order to occupy him, Kyp enjoyed an occasional drink at The Gray Corner— so named by Master Horn of all people who had ribbed that imbibing in alcohol didn't seem the Jedi way, though it certainly couldn't be of the dark side either. Luke had been amused, though he'd tried to hide it. The great Jedi Master had hinted they brainstormed other names, but— in a rare display of teamwork— Kyp and Corran had spread it across the Jedi base, and the name had stuck.
Now, Kyp was merely searching for entertainment while Jaina was spending the afternoon with her cousin and brother. He had no desire to take part in any of the uncomfortable conversations Jaina and her family were still working through with Anakin, but he did wish he could be there just to support Jaina. She had kept him updated on what'd talked about— or, rather, she had continued to confide in him how things with Anakin went, what they talked with him about, what he knew, what he asked about. From their sort of debriefs, Kyp knew they hadn't hardly talked about Jacen. He wished he could protect Jaina from the anticipation of those conversations. He wanted to be there with her when it had to happen, so Jaina knew she wasn't alone. He'd slowly realized in the recent weeks that he also wanted to be there to defend her. He couldn't anticipate how Anakin would react to hearing the full story of his brother's fall— he couldn't even tell how the kid felt about it now— but as the news of Jacen Solo's death had begun to spread across the Holonet, Kyp had begun to feel the urge to defend Jaina. Or, maybe he just wanted to become her safehouse, her bunker where she could hide away and explode in safety without worry. He just wanted to give her peace.
A drink seemed like a good opportunity to think about just that.
That, and the Force had guided him here. And, frankly, Kyp wasn't one to argue with the Force— especially if it was guiding him to have a drink.
It was early in the afternoon, and the small cantina hosted only a few patrons, the music and holoscreens filling the quiet. Kyp was surprised to see Han sitting at the bar. The older man sat with slouched shoulders, both hands gripping a hefty mug. For reasons besides the fact that it was poor manners to let a friend drink alone, Kyp made his way to the bar and took the seat beside him.
"Isn't it a little too early for a family man like you to start drinking in an open bar like this?"
Han didn't respond, didn't look up from his mug.
Stifling a sigh, Kyp sat back in his seat, raising two fingers to hail the server droid. "I'll take a Corellian whiskey, please." He was going to need something strong from the looks of it.
As if sensing his thought, Han shook his head, a short and slow motion, like he couldn't bear the movement. "I don't wanna' talk to you right now, kid." There was a certain slur to Han's words, a melody of blended syllables with no pronounced end that told Kyp the older man was well on his way to a long night.
"Would you prefer I leave this bar and watch you from the corner instead?"
Han groaned, dragging a hand down his haggard face. "Damn Jedi."
"I think you mean 'damn friend'; I'm not sticking here out of some moral obligation."
"No, you aren't my friend."
That triggered Kyp, freezing him in his tracks, though he would have been loath to admit it. He supposed Han had been his first friend, certainly a good one, and it would hurt him deeply if even Han was giving up on him now.
"You're— fornicating with my daughter."
Kyp almost released his breath audibly. "My intention was never to hurt you, Han," he said with an edge of humor. "I was hoping to tell you under better circumstances."
Han sat up, propping himself up on the counter, meeting Kyp's gaze with glassy eyes. "Yeah, well, you might as well stab me in the back." He shook his head, took a sip. "You could have warned me."
"When? Right before or after Jaina—"
"Don't say it. I get it."
"You just want to yell at me because it's one of the few things that makes sense right now."
"Sure. But I also want to yell at you because you're fornicating with my daughter."
"Okay, enough with fornicating."
Han's eyes seemed to clear for a moment when he caught Kyp's. "You mean'a tell me you aren't taking my daughter to bed with you?"
"Even you aren't that lucky."
Han grumbled, arms and head crashing back down to the counter. "Damn it, Kyp!" He sat up to take a gulp of his drink, slamming a fist on the counter. It took all of Kyp's willpower not to jump.
"Look, we might as well talk about this now."
"No, there's nothing to talk about."
"You sure about that?"
"I don't want to know anymore about you sleeping with my little girl. I don't want to hear about anyone sleeping with my little girl."
Sensing that Han hadn't truly decided their friendship was now over, Kyp let a silence hang in the air for a moment. The server droid brought his drink, and Kyp waited for his first sip. If he took the first now, his cup would empty too quickly.
"Han. I care about Jaina. A lot."
Han didn't respond.
"You know I do. You already knew I liked her."
"She was too young. Way too young when the two of you started to not hate each other."
Kyp would never deny that. Though he'd certainly been intrigued by Jaina when she'd still been a young woman, the romantic feelings hadn't come until much later. Years later, when she was much wiser and bore many more scars to match his.
"I love her, Han."
Han traced the scars and stains of his mug with his thumbs.
"I didn't want to."
"Why not?"
"A lot of reasons. Not the least of which being I didn't feel like I deserved her."
"You're right," Han bit out, and Kyp began to wonder if he'd misjudged, if this really was the dealbreaker for Han. But then he said, "Nobody deserves her. Not my princess," he added, his voice a whisper amid the nearly nonexistent buzz of the bar. "But if she can find someone who understands her, who understands a fraction of the hell she's been through…"
"I know, Han. We met in hell. Time and time again. And she was still so strong. Stronger than me. And so beautiful."
"She gets it from her mom. Not just her beauty. She might be anything but a princess, but you have to know, Kyp— you just gotta know!— she's my princess. And I can't lose her."
Kyp nodded. "I know, Han."
"She's the one kid that's been strong enough to survive. She's the one I've managed to protect."
"She is strong," Kyp agreed. "She'll keep surviving."
"You know, it's occurred to me … if you really love her like you say you do, that might be the best payback you can give me and Leia."
"Huh."
"What?"
"Just … reminds me of something Leia said to me when we were all on Hapes after Coruscant fell to the Vong."
"Can't imagine Leia saying anything nice to you around that time."
Kyp chuckled. "Eh, it wasn't all that bad. She said that if I brought Jaina back from the dark, I'd make a sizable dent in the debt I owed your family. And then she threatened me."
"Good. Wouldn't want you getting comfortable."
Kyp raised his brows and nodded mostly to himself, making something of an allowance.
"But she was right," Han continued. "You did make a pretty good dent in that debt. More than Leia will ever admit to you. Now, the trick is to make her happy, and never break her heart."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Han."
"Better not. Or else I'll have to threaten you. And it won't be as hard for me as you think it would be."
Despite himself, Kyp laughed, and he reached for his glass to take a drink.
"Aw, kriffing hell, Kyp." Han's head fell between his hands, and he uttered an exasperated, "Aghhh. Don't have kids, Kyp. Not unless you're ready to …"
"To what? Hand your daughter off to a rogue man with a less than reputable past?"
Han shook his head, eyes glistening in their drunken state. "More than that. I mean unless you're ready to end up …" He waved a hand in the space between them, indicating what Kyp didn't really know. "... here."
"What are you drinking, Han? Whatever it is, I think you need a break." Kyp reached over to confiscate the drink, surprised when Han didn't fight him. The heady smell of a potent whiskey or ale was notably absent, and when he raised the mug to his own lips, Kyp was baffled. "This is just water."
"Yeah, well, I've got an important conversation lined up after this one, and I'm afraid having it drunk won't do me any good."
"You alright, Han?"
"No," he grumbled. "Just when I thought I was starting to get good at this father thing, turns out I'm still screwed."
Kyp waited long enough to consider Han's words for the briefest moment, eyeing Han from his own hunched posture. "Look, Han, if this is about Anakin—"
"I'm not talking about my son with you. Not now. I'll talk to you about Jaina. 'Cause like hell am I gonna' let you hurt her."
Kyp surrendered, keeping his mouth shut until he thought the situation clear. "What else, Han?"
"I take it Jaina's told you everything?"
"You tell Leia everything, don't you?"
"'Course. I've been married to Leia for over thirty years— what I don't tell her, she figures out fairly quickly. But, yeah, I tell her everything."
Nodding, Kyp responded, "Jaina tells me just about everything. She told me immediately about Anakin. She tells me everything important to her. … She told me about the heir."
Kyp could sense it as Han tensed in his seat beside him, the older man making the effort not to react, not to draw any attention from the server droid across the length behind the counter or from any of the couple others occupying the silent corners of the cantina. Kyp watched his hand work, aged fingers stretching, then tapping an odd rhythm against the counter beside his water mug. "What about the heir?" he whispered, even quieter than they had been.
"Jaina told me of her tragic fate." The best he could tell from his impression of the lifeforms around, the couple older students who were in the cantina were preoccupied with their own thoughts, perhaps aware of his and Han's presence, but not concerned with them. His gaze caught on the droid who was busy cleaning a caf dispenser with a rag and some kind of durasteel cleaner between its mechanical mandibles. "My deepest sympathies to the queen. At least the queen has less to worry about now."
Han relaxed just a bit, easing back into his chair if only for the appearance.
"As for the war orphan you and Leia adopted … she has a much safer home now."
"That's what we hope," Han muttered.
"It's true. She is surrounded by people who love her. Even more who can protect her."
"What are you saying?"
Kyp picked up his mug, turning it in his hand as though inspecting the rust and wear. He leaned in closer to Han, still gripping the mug. "I'm saying, Han," he whispered too low for anyone but Han to hear, "that you can trust me. I will watch over her as part of Jaina's family. And I will defend and protect her as the queen's heir."
Nightly family dinner was not a tradition Anakin was exactly familiar with. Of course, in their home on Coruscant, they'd had a big family dinner table, everyone had their spots, and there was a certain rhythm to shared family meals: Chewie's howling laughter right beside him, his father to his right, telling a less than decent story from his solo days, Jaina and Jacen across from him, ribbing each other and planning their own defense against Anakin's own food attack whenever their parents weren't looking, and his mother across from his father, fighting to maintain a disapproving glare at any and all offenders to her peaceful family dinner.
But those blissful shared memories hadn't been so frequent as was normal for most families across the galaxy, Anakin had grown up to realize. Too often, his mother had been busy, burdened with her work as an ambassador for and then Chief of State of the fledgling New Republic. His father had had his commitments too, but he mostly did work for his mom, ran missions and jobs to make her life easier, the little bit of oil he could provide to help his wife start the infant government and keep it running.
It had been too much of a miracle for all five Solos to share a dinner throughout Anakin's childhood, but since being released from Cilghal's surveillance and care, the four remaining Solos plus Allana hadn't missed a single one together.
Unless they'd ordered in, dinner was always prepared by Han or Jaina, who had apparently inherited their father's undercover gift for cooking. Never Leia who was the source of many family legends concerning disastrous efforts at preparing as little as toast for her children. Anakin could still recall one occasion involving a kitchen fire that his father had thankfully been quick to smother, and another time when even Chewie hadn't been able to hide his revulsion in his Wookiee features when trying a casserole Leia had prepared.
Now, during these peaceful family meals with both of his parents, Jaina, and Allana all at the same table, the greatest trial was conversation. They spent most dinners discussing safe topics, catching Anakin up on the history of the galaxy, some of the more hopeful and bright events of the galaxy. Throughout a few dinners Uncle Luke and Ben had joined them for, they'd told Anakin about Zonama Sekot, how they'd first heard of it, the mission to find the planet, the weeks spent negotiating with the world's living consciousness, and the vital role it had played in ending the war, declaring itself a new home for the Yuuzhan Vong— both a sanctuary to live and thrive, and an enclosed fortress to restructure their society.
Often, he'd make conversation with Allana, ask about her favorite cartoons and toys, her favorite places on Hapes, memories with her mother. Han and Leia both listened to her with rapt attention as if determined to make up for the years apart by absorbing stories of their granddaughter's childhood.
He asked Jaina about her adventures leading a squadron, her subsequent promotions, and ultimate decision to focus on her path as a Jedi.
Easy, harmless conversation that flowed smoothly and naturally, lending to laughs and new memories. Tonight, Jaina was recalling a story of their mother's Jedi training, a particular instance when her Barabel master had greatly humbled her in a duel without weapons and literally swept Leia off with her feet with no more than her reptilian tail.
As the family meal concluded and Threepio began to retrieve their plates, Anakin caught his mother flash a glance across the table to Han as she rose from her seat. His father didn't nod back, but he set down his napkin with a casual sigh. "I'm, uh, gonna' head off for the Falcon. The old girl's got some fresh carbon scoring and fried circuits that could use some love if, uh, anyone wants to help."
The invitation was so obvious, it might as well have been delivered via a paid singing hologram, but he couldn't bear to jump at the summons, to acknowledge the call was for him. After a moment's awkward hesitation, Han got up from his seat and left the quarters. Anakin was helping Threepio recycle the dishes when Leia took a plate from his hands. "Why don't you go help your father."
"Jaina's better with mechanics than I am—"
"I'm heading off to Kyp's quarters for the night," Jaina managed casually, already slipping on her jacket. "I'll be available to help out tomorrow, though."
Battling a sense of betrayal, Anakin relinquished the plate to his mother. She caught his shoulder before he turned away, and told him, "He really wants this time with you."
Anakin nodded, mute, and left.
Ossus didn't have a single proper docking bay, but the majestic if not also rickety Millennium Falcon stood proudly on her landing struts in a barren field, no durasteel or stone walls to shield her from the whims of nature.
Anakin hadn't yet laid his eyes on the Falcon since awakening, and his first instinct was to survey the familiar freighter for damage. Nevermind that he'd been sent to help with some sort of repairs, it was an unintended ritual to inspect his father's ship for new marks and bruises whenever Han Solo returned from his latest adventure or skirting encounter with death. The Solo family had lost so much over the years, so many worlds and places of comfort, but the Falcon was an enduring home, a place they knew they could always return to. It carried so many family milestones from the beginning of Anakin's parents' romance to the setting of his and his siblings' happiest childhood memories. According to Jaina, the Falcon had become Han and Leia's true home following the fall of Coruscant during the Yuuzhan Vong War, and any other place they'd occupied had always been more of a temporary shelter.
He wondered if his parents wanted to stay on Ossus, where they'd go if they didn't, if he would stay here in quarters of his own and become an actual part of this place …
The future seemed far too much to consider now, though, logically, Anakin thought it ought to be his greatest concern seeing as he currently had no purpose. But he felt like he was still looking for some of the key pieces before he could decide where he was going. Yet, he had no idea what those pieces were or where to go about searching for them. For now, there was enough within his own family to face.
Anakin found his way up the boarding ramp into the main corridor. The walls were further discolored than Anakin thought he remembered, evidence of time and aging more so than damage from the peril of battle. Walking across the floor panels, he could tell the smuggling compartments weren't hollow, or empty beneath. When he was a kid, those compartments had often been filled with weapons and less-than-New-Republic-friendly materials his mother and father had always been clear was not a place to go digging for fun.
He followed the sound of clinking tools and pangs against durasteel through the main corridor , past the circuitry bay, and around to the access corridor leading straight to the cockpit. An array of tools and spare parts littered the way, marking a path. Sure enough, his father was leaning across the console, toolkit already out, hydrospanner in his back pocket.
"Hey, Dad." Anakin stepped into the cockpit, glancing around for a sense of the job ahead. There weren't any fried wires to be seen or blown fuses that were clearly in need of attention, and that's when Anakin began to suspect this was one of those repair sessions his father made up because he needed time and space to work through something. "What are you working on?"
Han looked up quickly from the control board, appearing as though he was surprised to see Anakin there. "Ah, just … we had to make a quick escape after our last skirmish. She took some fire— nothing too serious, but I haven't had the chance to check her out yet. Besides, the last big repair she had done was done by some of Lando's people."
"You don't trust Lando?"
As if regaining his footing, Han seemed to finally— if momentarily— focus his gaze, frowning. "I trust Lando. I don't trust Lando's people."
Despite himself, Anakin began to smirk. "What kind of fire are we talking about?"
Han's face grew grim. "Least one turbolaser to the hull. Then, the usual. I've already checked out the big issues, but not all the controls are responding the way they should. I need to recalibrate some of the control settings, weapons, targets and guns."
"Sure," Anakin nodded.
Han pushed off from the control board to inspect some of the controls on the left wall, and that's when Anakin noticed the copilot chair. The first row of dup chairs had been an oddly mismatched pair longer than Anakin had been alive, and yet it had been entirely normal: one standard-sized chair in the pilot's position fit for a human, and a second nearly twice the height and width for Han Solo's Wookiee copilot. The pilot chair was quite familiar to Anakin, worn as ever, ripped stitches along the seams, fuzzes of stuffing fraying at the edges, someone's careful needlework desperately trying to hold the filling in. Anakin had spent more flights on the Falcon sitting in his father's lap on that chair than he could count. It was the copilot's seat that threw Anakin for a dizzying spin. Gone was the aged and well-loved giant chair that had always belonged to Chewbacca. In its place, drilled steadfast into the floor with new plating, much lower to the ground, a smaller chair with more cushion and support, was a much smaller chair. It had to be half the size as the spot's original occupant, but it wasn't the size in itself that bothered Anakin so much as the lack of that old and familiar seat.
Chewie's seat. It was gone.
He couldn't help but stare, couldn't look anywhere but at the foreign object in Chewie's spot. It was his single focus until his father noticed his gaze and broke through his thoughts. "That's your mom's chair now. I couldn't have picked a better copilot to take over for Chewie, but that old chair wasn't going to work. Gave me a heart attack watching her get thrown back and forth every time we took off or made a course adjustment. She could have gotten really hurt."
Trying to swallow his surprise, Anakin managed, "That must have made Mom happy."
Han shrugged, his gaze, too, now stuck on the diminutive chair. "It was just something she needed. Besides, I wanted her to know I like having her there."
Enough to replace Chewie's chair, apparently. Still stuck staring at the chair in awe, his father sighed. "Well, don't act so surprised."
"When did you get this new one?"
"A little while after we left Coruscant."
Anakin understood the unspoken. After we left Coruscant, after Coruscant fell, after you died. Anakin was glad his father had held on so tightly to his mother, that the two had clearly grown even closer and fallen deeper in love following loss. It was exactly what he wanted.
"What did you do with Chewie's chair?"
"Threw it out. Didn't have any space for it. And I didn't need to hold onto it."
Anakin fought the thought that that didn't sound like his father, but Han picked the thought from his head anyway.
"Look … Anakin. I— uh— I've spent a lot of time in the last few years thinking about the last things I said to you."
There it was. Anakin might have cringed if that grand opening didn't hit so hard and so close to something he'd been trying to keep a lid on. "Ah, I've heard plenty of these speeches already."
"Mind another one?"
"It's okay, Dad. Mom's got everyone covered."
"I'm talking about just the two of us, though. And the things I said to you since the war started."
"It's alright. Don't you think we're far enough past it?"
Han looked skeptical, and Anakin knew his act wasn't holding. "I don't know, Anakin. You tell me." He sighed, dragging a hand down his face, and he suddenly looked much older than … than Anakin was comfortable with. He looked like a different man. Like a man who had lost everything, only holding onto his last remnants of hope by a leash. Like Anakin, as he stood before his father, was nothing more than a phantom of a life ripped away from him. "When we were all on Eclipse, and you were proposing the strike mission … I know I was harsh on you. And I thought you'd know I didn't mean anything by it, but I started to realize maybe you didn't. And it bothered me a lot— everything I said, how I treated you."
"It's okay," Anakin said, not meeting his eyes. "I know you were just worried about the mission."
"Yeah, but … I shouldn't have been so harsh on you. We still weren't— I still had a ways to make it up to you for everything I said after Chewie died. When you left for Myrkr— I thought I'd have more time … to make it up. I was scared of what could happen to you and your brother and sister. But I wasn't prepared to lose one of you."
"It's okay," he murmured, turning to face the controls on the wall opposite his father. "I know."
"Except, clearly you don't."
Anakin picked a microfuser and safety glove. "We really don't need to talk about this right now."
"Jaina told me what you said about thinking I miss Chewie more than you."
Anakin froze.
"Or, that losing you was somehow easier for me than losing Chewie?" Though he couldn't see Han, the older man's voice was rough, gravelly with some emotion. Han Solo didn't much like emotion; he much preferred covering his expression and hiding his feelings with cocky confidence and bravado. But his timbre was coarse— like a sandstorm against soft skin. Vulnerable. "Look at me, Anakin. Please."
This wasn't Han Solo, legendary mercenary-turned-hero of the rebellion, accomplished general of the New Republic, hotshot freighter pilot, HoloNet's Hero of the Decade. This was Han, mercenary-turned-volunteer, dedicated husband, loving father of three. Yet, more ingenuous than Anakin had ever seen him. It was almost unsettling, almost frightening— if it wasn't so comforting.
Anakin turned to face Han. He stood with both hands on his hips, but the stance held no strength amid his trembling jaw and the tears standing— no, already falling— from his eyes. Instead, it looked like he was just trying to hold himself up.
"Here's the thing." His father's tone was deep, hushed, trying to contain his fragility. "Losing Chewie was really hard. You saw me, saw how easily I lost myself. I'd had Chewie and only Chewie for so long, and it didn't seem right to go on without him. He'd been all I had for the longest time before I met your mom and she gave me you and your brother and sister. For years, Chewie had been the only one I could rely on, who I knew would never leave me. Until he did leave me. And after he'd died, I was ready to give anything to have him back, go anywhere, turn back into the person I'd been when Chewie first found me.
"But when we lost you, I realized how much more I was willing to give— the stupid, reckless things I was willing to do. Not that I wasn't reckless after Chewie died, but … with you, it wasn't so reckless as … " Han frowned— at himself, fumbling over his words, holding nothing back as he tried to find the right words to express his emotion-based thoughts. "I was focused. Or, I could have been. There was more of a purpose behind my recklessness and the grief. I would have done anything— anything at all. I would have died for you if I could have." He shook his head, the lump in his throat bobbing. "I'd never considered dying to bring back Chewie."
Years ago, when he had still been fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, after Chewie had died and Anakin was left more confused and lost than he'd ever been— he likely would have argued that Han was clearly willing to die for Chewie if it meant getting his best friend back. He'd sure thought so back then. But something about the past few weeks— and his last weeks before his own demise— had matured him enough to see the truth: his father wouldn't have died for Chewie as Chewie had died for Anakin. Because all Han had wanted in those months after the Wookiee's death was to be with him again, to have the Wookiee at his side, for things to be as they'd always been. Not together in death or even in the Force, but for things to go back to the way they had been. Because Han hadn't been able to let go.
But for Anakin, for his youngest child, his own son …
"I still miss Chewie. Every day. But he wasn't my son. He knew that. He knew that on Sernpidal when you turned back to get that kid you heard. You told Chewie to head back to the Falcon, but he wouldn't turn back without you. And when you fell, Chewie went back for you … because he knew. He knew he wasn't my son. My kid.
"I never meant to blame you for what happened to Chewie. I know I did a lousy job of showing that, but … It was nearly you that day. Had Chewie been a second slower, I would've lost you. And I knew that. And it terrified me. And I think that's part of what made losing Chewie so hard for me; realizing that if I could lose Chewie … your mom wasn't safe. Jaina and Jacen weren't safe. You weren't safe. And that's a lousy excuse, I know. Probably only makes it all worse." He shrugged. "But it's part of the truth. And then I did lose you."
Part of Anakin had to force himself to hold his father's gaze while the other half was compelled to. His father's tremorring jaw turned to full-face scrunch as Han tried to hold something, just a kernel of the full force of his pain back. But it was in vain. Anakin had never seen anything like it— not even the last time he and his family had been on Kashyyyk for Chewbacca's memorial service.
"It was the worst pain I've ever felt, Anakin. If it hadn't been for your mom and your brother and your sister— if I didn't have to think about them— I would have died just to see you again, to tell you how much I love you. But I didn't have time to scream how unfair it was. I couldn't break— not when I had to take care of your mother. I couldn't think about it, Anakin. I couldn't think about how much it hurt, let myself even realize how much it hurt. Because I would have lost myself again. And no one would have been able to bring me back. Or, bring your mother back. I didn't have a choice. And now you're—" He broke off, an audible, cracked cry escaping his throat and Anakin didn't have time to think about what he was doing, what he even wanted, before he threw himself into his father's arms.
His dad's hold on him was fierce, unrestrained. His embrace was warm and his arms wrapped so tightly around Anakin that he might have had reason for concern, but who kriffing cared? He wanted his father's arms tighter around him, wanted his father to hold him like he was a little kid again, sitting in his lip in the pilot's seat of the Millennium Falcon, content in his father's lap while he pointed to the different controls and taught him what each one was.
He wanted to be sixteen again, on Eclipse, to run into his father's arms and give him one last hug just like this one before he left, to tell his dad that it would be okay, that they would figure it out, and find a way past the pain. That, no matter what happened between them, he loved him.
Or, he could do all that now.
"Dad?" His own voice was a croak; partly from the tears, and partly from the strangle Han had him caught up in. But before he could say anything more, his father's embrace turned to a desperate cradle, clutching Anakin's head in one hand to cry in his ear, "I love you, son! I love you, Anakin! I love you!"
Anakin nodded his head against his father's chest like he was a little boy again. "I know, Dad!"
"Anakin," he cried in a hoarse voice, holding onto Anakin like a doll. "I want you to know … you didn't leave Chewie. I left you."
Anakin wouldn't have known what to respond with if given the chance, but he became aware of two lurking presences. Before he could turn to see, though he already knew who they were, his mother and sister rounded to Anakin's and his father's sides, Leia with tears already starting down her cheeks, Jaina with glassy eyes. The two women held hands, but Leia used her second to reach up and stroke his cheek, then she looked to her husband and stretched to kiss him on the jaw. She and Jaina reached around Anakin and Han, his mother at once promising and rejoicing, "We're going to be okay. We're going to be okay."
No other words were needed as Han eased his arms from Anakin to wrap up all his wife and children. And they stood there together for as long as they needed, until the pain of the past was nothing more than a memory, and all that remained was the future. And, that, they could face together.
He found her later in the evening, standing alone in a commons area near the correct corridor leading to his parents' quarters. The lighting was set to a dim glow, highlighting just the silhouette of her until he more closely approached. She stood straight, but rigid, stiff. Like the strength in her legs and spine were nothing more than a rod holding her up. She flinched when he came as close as several meters, standing still but turning her chin away.
"... Tahiri?" he called, so lost and so confused. She seemed impossibly far away.
"Who are you?" she spoke, and Anakin frowned. "I don't know you."
"Tahiri, I— I've been looking for you. I just want to talk with you."
As he approached closer, she risked a glance at him, her eyes flashing, then quickly turned away. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
"Tahiri, why won't you come talk to me?"
"You don't know any better."
"I just want to see you—"
"I know what you're looking for," she bit out, and Anakin took an involuntary step back. "And you aren't going to find it."
"I just want to talk to you."
"I'm not who you think I am."
"How can you—"
"She isn't here!" The figure paused, took a breath. "I'm sorry. But I can't help you."
"Tahiri—" Anakin tried to reach out, stop her. His fingertips brushed the cloth of her shirt, but he couldn't squeak out another syllable or grab her arm before a sudden migraine erupted across his skull, and his vision exploded in a blinding ray of white light. His breath lost to him, Anakin felt himself falling, falling, falling back into the Force, and he was lost to unconsciousness, stuck in the same visions and nightmares he'd been plagued with since first awakening …