Thanks Tiger234 for the Korkie/Fenn encouragement - scene one is for you. Korkie deserves some happiness, no?

I promise in matters of Ariarne and beyond I'll also advance the plot a little (I've somehow written a lot of words without all too much happening this week). Enjoy :)

Chapter 64: Drifting

Fenn padded into Korkie's makeshift canvas office – of comparable size, amusingly, to the stone and mortar office he had inherited from Gar Saxon in Keldabe – as the chrono approached midnight. Korkie had taken the advice of the Alliance's Commander Tano; their time in the desert was nearly over. They would return to Keldabe in the coming days.

"It's much quieter without all those teenagers around," Fenn observed.

No squabbling over the access to the water-tank or data-pad volume. No more agitated adolescents pacing the hallways between arguments over matters more solemn.

"Mhmm," Korkie agreed. "And yet somehow, I still have a headache."

It wasn't hard to guess why. Korkie had barely looked up from his data-pad with Fenn's arrival. Beside the blue screen, pages of flimsi were jammed with Korkie's slanted, looping, often unintelligible handwriting. The decision to return to the cities was far from straightforward and had unearthed another mountain of logistic work. Fenn meandered behind him to inspect his writing, one hand on Korkie's shoulder and the other in the curls of hair where his neck met his scalp. Fenn wasn't much use in non-military policy but could cure a headache.

Korkie's head dropped forward with a soft groan.

"Fenn, forgive me, but I am actually entirely unable to read while you're touching me."

He turned his head to look back at him with an apologetic smile.

"It's some rare variant of dyslexia…"

"Oh no," Fenn deadpanned. "How terrible."

"I have work to do!" Korkie appealed.

"You'll always have work to do."

Fenn extended his left hand over Korkie's shoulder.

"May I?"

With a sigh of defeat, Korkie offered him the flimsi.

"The data-pad version, please. I can't read your princely script."

Korkie exchanged flimsi for screen and Fenn appraised the printed statement on the data-pad. Phase I: return to settlements and evacuation readiness. He scanned through the intricate details. Evacuation preparations will utilise centrally-allocated funds and resources and be adapted for local settings under the command of the presiding Alor'ad.

"Hmm."

"It needs fixing?" Korkie asked.

"No, no, it's all very sensible…"

Fenn returned the data-pad to the desk.

"Does this mean I'm stationed back on Concord Dawn?" he asked, pointing out the passage.

"Ah. I suppose so."

Korkie's shoulders slumped.

"I hadn't really thought that through entirely. What it looks like in the longer-term."

"I'm happy to go," Fenn reassured him. "It's my duty to go. But really, they only need me from time to time. Not permanently."

Korkie turned in the chair to look at Fenn properly.

"Stay for as long or as little as you see fit," he advised. "You know I've given up giving you orders. This-"

He waved the data-pad.

"-doesn't apply to you."

Fenn conceded a gracious smile. But their levity faded quickly. This was the problem, wasn't it, that they'd been dancing around?

"It's supposed to apply to me," Fenn admitted. "All of your policies are."

Korkie gave a hapless shrug, rubbed at his weary eyes.

"It's really no matter," Fenn prefaced, "don't let me worsen your headache, but-"

"You could never," Korkie reassured him.

"-do you have a plan? For… this?"

For his fingers still entwined in those golden curls, his thumb resting upon the pulse at his temple.

"Uh…"

Korkie seemed to be weighing up a great many possibilities.

"No," he concluded eventually, dispirited. "Sorry, Fenn. I haven't thought of a plan yet. Except for retiring and putting Bo-Katan in charge."

Fenn rolled his eyes.

"That's not a plan."

"I know," Korkie agreed. "Do you have one?"

Fenn was pleased to be asked.

"I have many plans for you. The first of which is bringing you to bed while we're both still awake."

"That's not the sort of plan I meant."

But Korkie was smiling, beautiful creases by his eyes.

"I don't think we'll get away with this arrangement in Keldabe," Fenn pointed out. "My allocated bunk is in the captains' dormitory."

Korkie gave a pensive hum but said nothing. His eyes were distant, unfocused.

"Or," Fenn sighed, "I could go to bed alone for the tenth night in a row…"

Korkie started.

"Have you been counting? Is it really ten?"

"Tonight would be the tenth, yes."

With a groan, Korkie pressed himself to his feet.

"Ugh, kriff it. Alright."

"Don't sound so reluctant," Fenn laughed.

Korkie took his hand, his countenance set now in determination.

"I am anything but."

They left the flimsi in a mess on the fold-out desk and headed for the cell at the far end of the complex. The desert night was cool and quiet. Fenn was hardly paying any attention at all to their padding journey down the hallway, his mind rather preoccupied by the hand entwined with his own and thoughts of the pallet that awaited them, and stumbled into Korkie's back when Korkie stopped abruptly.

"Ah. Good evening, Ba'vodu."

Bo-Katan Kryze, so seldom unarmoured, apparently moved in silence without the clinking of beskar to give her away. She rubbed at her bleary eyes and stared at them for a few moments in silence. Fenn should have been far beyond this but he felt a flush of warmth in his cheeks.

"Huh," she murmured. "Sewlen wasn't kidding."

"Sewlen encouraged me," Korkie supplied.

They were still holding hands. Bo-Katan barely stifled a roll of her eyes.

"I'm sure she did," she grumbled, not without fondness, before appraising them more solemnly. "It's politically sub-optimal, you know."

Korkie shrugged.

"We do know."

Her mouth creased into a thin line, and then, slowly, into a smile.

"Whereas your mother's choice of partner was nothing short of politically disastrous," she recalled. "I wouldn't worry about it too much."

Korkie blinked, stunned, and then brightened.

"Oh. Thanks, Ba'vodu."

They might have had some sort of tacit approval but Fenn still couldn't meet Bo-Katan's eye. They'd been military enemies in the years of the Death Watch then awkward colleagues in the Peace Corps then quasi-enemies in the age of Saxon and the Empire and now colleagues again. Korkie held no one's opinion more highly. Now here he was being dragged to bed by the Alor'ad of Kalevala's beloved nephew…

"Once the Empire's done, we rebuild on Kalevala before Concord Dawn," she warned, pointing an accusatory finger at them both. "A better investment of funds."

Korkie held his free hand up in self-defence.

"We rebuild all settlements simultaneously," he promised.

"No one wants to live on Concord karking Dawn," Bo-Katan tutted, but didn't press the argument. "Whatever. I'll be double-checking the accounts."

"You're most welcome to," Korkie acquiesced. "Enough politics. It's bedtime, no?"

"Must be," Bo-Katan mused. "Haven't seen you look this lively in weeks, though."

Fenn might have been pleased to know that the seasoned soldier was still capable of humour had he not been so karking embarrassed. Korkie rolled his eyes as they took a half-step forward.

"Give me break, Ba'vodu."

"You won't be able to do this in Keldabe, you know."

"We know very well, thank you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They hurried past her in the narrow corridor and finally into the tenuous solitude of their canvas-lined sleeping cell. Korkie turned and appraised Fenn with laughter in his eyes.

"Don't look so horrified. She doesn't mean any of those tough things she says. I think she's happy for us."

Fenn sank to the ground and busied himself pulling off his boots, the heat still dissipating from his cheeks.

"Happy might be a stretch."

Korkie shrugged, kicking off his boots while simultaneously wrestling with his sweater and undershirt over his head.

"Happyish," was the muffled concession.

The night was cold and they hurried to be tucked under the insulator blanket, where Fenn finally forgot the corridor exchange entirely. Propped on his side, he ran his hand up and down, slowly, along Korkie's scalp and neck and then to his back, feeling the strength beneath his fingers. The scar of the blaster wound sustained in the final duel with Gar Saxon had healed well, thanks to the bacta. It had been the first piece of Korkie's bare skin that Fenn had ever touched. He still remembered the way his heart had caught in his chest to do so. It seemed impossible that they lay together now. Korkie's eyes were closed, his cheek resting on his folded arms, content.

"You're even more handsome with the scar, I think," Fenn mused.

"Which?"

"On your forehead."

Korkie snickered.

"Is that why you did such a terrible job at repairing it?"

"That was my lack of surgical talent. Can't do that sort of thing without my hands shaking."

Korkie's lips quirked.

"I thought it might have been our physical proximity."

It had been the first time they had been close enough for Fenn to appreciate the freckles on his nose, the curl of his eyelashes. The moment that he realised there had been a reason his eyes had kept straying back to the Mand'alor in each of their planning meetings.

"That certainly didn't help," he admitted.

Korkie opened his eyes.

"And yet your hands are so steady now," he observed.

Fenn shrugged.

"This is easy."

"Easy?" Korkie laughed. "I've been called many things in my life, Fenn-"

"I meant no disrespect, Mand'alor."

Korkie narrowed his eyes in suspicion, a smile upon his lips still.

"And here I was, thinking you were just a stickler for etiquette. But you like calling me that."

Fenn flushed. It had taken Korkie long enough to figure out, really.

"To be fair," he argued, in his own defence, "I also believe in following etiquette. I call everyone by their proper titles."

"Not in bed, I hope."

"No," Fenn conceded, bringing his hand to Korkie's shoulder to turn him to his back. "Only you."

Sidious had never intended to be directly involved in the defence of his Empire but his lacklustre apprentice left him little choice. Darth Gelid had been unable to manage Korkie Kryze let alone the Skywalker issue but was, at the very least, competent in matters of business administration and his inspection of the near-finished Death Star was far less disappointing than it might have been.

"And the rebels are becoming aware of its existence, I hope?"

"Yes, Master. We have fed out a few pieces of intelligence. But the station will be completed, without their knowledge, long before they launch any attack."

"Hmm."

It was as close as Sidious could come to some word of approval. The Alliance to Restore the Republic would be finally crushed and never reborn; an operational Death Star would be sufficient deterrent. His apprentice was capable in her dealings with the Force-blind galaxy, at least.

Regardless, more work had been left to Sidious than he had planned. It was beneath his station to engage in the hunt for Anakin Skywalker, not to mention impractical. His corporal body was not so strong as it once had been and he ought to have been devoting his energy entirely to the pursuit of immortality. It did not bode well that apparently Cere Junda had discovered secrets he had not.

But so long as Anakin Skywalker lived, he could not rest. There was too much power in him, more than the Jedi had ever understood, and more than Anakin himself could have conceptualised, even after all these years. The sort of power that had to be twisted, redirected, contained. Anakin was not dark at his core and would be a middling Sith. A useful, ever-inferior apprentice. He could not be allowed to grow into his power as the whispers had claimed in recent years.

The freer of the slaves.

It was far better that Anakin never learn the depth of his own power. His love for his children might have persuaded him to cowardice in decades gone past but if left unchecked there would come a time, inevitably, when Anakin would find the courage to rise against the Sith Lord who declared himself Master of the galaxy.

Abducting one of the children had been the obvious answer. But on second thought, Darth Gelid's failures aside, it was perhaps not the most elegant way of achieving his goals. Anakin would march in with the attitude of determined martyrdom he had shown after he had lost Kenobi and prodding him into defiance was asking for trouble again. He would do better to unbalance him, to shatter his convictions of Light and Dark, of right and wrong. It was not enough to hurt his children, to take them from him. The children had to fail.

Padme Amidala was gone and with her the easiest way of manipulating Anakin Skywalker, but there was weakness left in his children. Darth Gelid had complained petulantly of the melodrama she had endured on Bespin but it was not the daughter's fondness for an inconsequential smuggler that interested Sidious. Darth Gelid had almost neglected to mention that Luke Skywalker had emerged from his exile with the Princess Organa at his side. It seemed they had both spent their time away in Jedi training. The Princess had, apparently, lost an arm defending her companion from Gelid's assault.

Darth Gelid might have been feigning ignorance as to the connection between herself and the adopted Organa but Darth Sidious suspected she had known it for a long time. It had been a deliberate test to send her to Ralltiir all those years ago. The Jedi had kept good records of the origins of their younglings and Jocasta Nu had ultimately been unsuccessful in her efforts to destroy them on the day that the Order fell. Sidious had made good use of those records with his Inquisitorius. It would have been very, very easy for the young Second Sister to have learned the names of the parents who had given her up to the Jedi. And even if she had never been tempted by those records, it would have become obvious, certainly, when faced with them on Ralltiir and tasked with seizing her newborn sister.

Darth Gelid might have been stubbornly refusing any sentimentality now but young Ariarne Organa had been raised tender-hearted. If Organa came first then young Luke Skywalker would no doubt follow and things would begin to become very messy indeed, and by the time Anakin Skywalker emerged to save the day he would not know anymore the Light from the Dark.

It was more than Sidious ought to have been doing – really, it should have all been well within Darth Gelid's abilities – but he was not so old nor frail that it was beyond him. It had always been his greatest talent, finding fears and shifting truths. He did not have the advantage of the familiarity with Ariarne Organa that he had enjoyed with Anakin Skywalker; he would not be able to reach her so easily. But he knew the tides of the Force better than any being alive and he would pull her, with a current so subtle she would not even realise that she was drifting, towards him.

Ariarne was certain that she had glimpsed her parents somewhere in the drug-induced haze in the days after her operation.

You come from nothing.

She did not know much but she knew that this was not true. There were bleary faces in her memory somewhere, hiding in some recess of her mind where she could not reach. There was a story. There was a story and Ariarne might have been struggling to piece it together but the Sith apprentice knew it well. It had been a command, almost, the way those words had been pressed upon her.

You come from nothing.

Darth Gelid had lied to her. She had sensed that much.

The fighter slipped down from the cool clarity of space and into the mist of Dagobah. Ariarne exhaled deep and slow. She ought to let all of this go before she saw Master Yoda again but she could not deny to herself that her motives to return to the Force-rich planet had not been entirely pure. Master Yoda would counsel her on the Jedi way and the peace that could be found within it. But Yoda had grieved for decades, hadn't he, before finding some tenuous sort of peace in exile again? There might have been another way. A better way. Perhaps the humming swamp and the shrouding fog and that vibrant pulse of life in the Force would bring her the truth. Peace would be easy, Ariarne reasoned, once she finally knew the truth.

She managed to land without sinking the ship, this time. But it meant landing a little further from Yoda's subterranean home and Ariarne found herself walking the swamp, reaching for him. He felt hazier in the Force, somehow. Perhaps he did not want to see her.

She found him eventually in meditation, perched on the gnarled branch of a weary tree; she could not quite grasp his presence until she was standing almost directly beneath him.

"Master Yoda. I've returned."

He kept her waiting. It was deserved, Ariarne supposed. She tucked her knees to her chest and sat on the cool dampness of the ground at the tree's base, closing her eyes to join him in meditation of her own. The humming presences in the Force were familiar and yet strange. The planet had continued to evolve in her absence, or perhaps she had returned changed.

There was, after perhaps an hour, the quiet thud of Yoda's landing at her feet.

"Returned alone, you have?"

Ariarne opened her eyes.

"Yes, Master. Luke is fighting in the Alliance forces over Hudulla."

Yoda gave a disapproving grunt. Ariarne wondered if she should tell him that Luke had dutifully intended to return to Dagobah, only that she had bullied him out of it. She somewhat apologetically held her tongue. Master Yoda would be disappointed in her enough without hearing of her mess of feelings for Luke.

"He'll come back," she offered. "He wants to finish his training."

"Want," Yoda echoed, with heavy scepticism. "Irrelevant, want is. Finish your training, both of you must."

He looked up at her then, his gaze sharpening.

"Known battle, you have."

The metallic fingertips that emerged from her deliberately overlarge sleeve had not escaped his notice.

"With the Emperor's apprentice on Bespin," she conceded. "We helped to rescue Leia and Chewbacca. But we needed Korkie's help. Darth Gelid is powerful."

The ancient Jedi watched her in silence. Ariarne reluctantly spat out the rest of it.

"She unbalanced me, Master. I lapsed in my focus. I have come to find it again."

Yoda slumped, his Force presence emanating neither surprise nor disappointment. He simply seemed sad.

"Darth Gelid…" he repeated, his voice a faint rasp. "Entangle yourself with such darkness, you should not."

"We must," Ariarne protested. "If we are to defeat the Empire."

Yoda shook his head but said nothing.

"Come," he decreed eventually, setting off at a slow amble. "Eat. Then, we will train."

Ariarne followed behind him, her footfalls deliberately slow. Yoda's every step seemed an effort. She yearned to carry him, to allow his body to rest.

"I want to return to the cave of darkness," she told him, as they walked. "I must face-"

"No."

Ariarne raised her brows in surprise but said nothing, rattled. Maybe Luke had been right. Yoda would ban her 'saber, ban that vergence of darkness, and force her through the bare basics until she could breathe air a singular molecule at a time.

"Enter that space, we do, to learn of our fears," Yoda elaborated, eventually. "To glimpse our own darkness. Enter that space to find ourselves, to find our truth, we do not. Show us our truth, it will not."

"But the darkness in us is a sort of truth, Master. One that we must face."

Master Yoda did not look back at her.

"Faced darkness, you have. Lost your arm, you did."

Ariarne groaned.

"Hey, that's not fair. I haven't even told you exactly what happened. It wasn't that I was angry. Or fearful. I just-"

"Each time that you reach for sentient connection, spurn the Force, you do."

Ariarne gave up on the argument. Yoda's physical strength might have been fading but he knew her well, knew her better than he had been letting on. He knew, somehow, that when she had been entangled with Gelid she had been struck by that strange insanity and he knew, she suspected, that she had asked after her parents.

"A Jedi needs nothing beyond the Force," Yoda concluded.

"And food," Ariarne sniped, half-heartedly.

Yoda chuckled as he combed through his supplies. He still had Luke's compartmentalised lunchbox that he'd stolen the day they first met.

"Reconnect with the Force, you will," Yoda vowed. "Forget these extraneous things, you shall."

He was no longer talking about food; he meant the family she had known and the family she had not. He meant Luke. He meant Darth Gelid.

"My life is not extraneous, Master Yoda," Ariarne protested. "These things I seek… they are the story of who I am."

If she had a story. She must have had a story.

"The story of the galaxy is the Force," Yoda decreed, sitting finally, a selection of delicacies – swamp treats – arranged between them. "Every life is a small raindrop in the ocean of the Force."

Ariarne fell silent with a sigh. Master Yoda was probably right. Perhaps she was simply a narcissist. The breathing exercises would do her good. She would, hopefully, become some sort of metaphorical raindrop and forget these extraneous things in time.

You come from nothing.

She came from the Force. From everything. But as she sat before Master Yoda and shared in his meagre offerings, she could not help but feel a welling sadness at the thought of living this life. He had shrunken in the mere weeks she and Luke had been gone. Ariarne could not escape the feeling that the loneliness was slowly killing him.

Cloud City was a mess, overrun by stormtroopers and Imperial officers until it looked more like a military base than Lando Calrissian's famous haven of modernity, freedom and economic opportunity.

"Lando said he was coming back," Leia murmured, as they stalked heads down along a narrow walking track, suspended over the clouds, through passing soldiers. "He left Mandalore basically as soon as we all landed, before you even got there. He said he had things to sort out in Cloud City."

"Pretty brave to come back," Anakin muttered. "Maybe he realised it was too dangerous. Maybe he was here a day or two and then bolted again. There's no chance the Empire forgives him for what he did. Either he throws it all in with the Alliance or he goes back to however he and Han made their money back in the day…"

Her father's voice was sceptical but not exactly disapproving. Leia decided to pick her battles and let it slide.

"Whatever. We don't need to find him. Someone will have seen something."

The Millennium Falcon had not, of course, been waiting for them on the landing pad on which they had abandoned her. She hadn't been in any scrapyards either. Chewbacca and C-3PO, both too conspicuous to walk the streets with them, were currently searching databases back on the ship but hadn't called through any promising finds yet. Not even R2-D2, trailing loyally behind them, seemed to know where to go next.

"Over there," Anakin indicated, with a subtle jerk of his head. "They're watching us."

"They're not Imperial," Leia observed.

"They don't look Imperial."

"I can feel it. They're okay."

Anakin hesitated only a moment before following his daughter over towards the figure, who turned as they approached, leading them from the main walkway. Leia managed only a glimpse of his face but thought she might have recognised him. They followed several paces behind until they descended into a refuelling station.

"Found you some fellow fugitives, Lando."

The former Baron Administrator emerged from a small office behind the fuel depot, beheld Leia with mingled admiration and disappointment.

"Came back for the ship?" he asked.

"Of course."

Lando grimaced as he waved them inside.

"You should have told me you were coming. I'd have told you not to waste your time. She's not here."

The desk was a mess of data-pads and single-use caff cups.

"You should have told me that," Leia rebuked him. "What happened to her?"

Lando shrugged.

"I'm trying to figure it out myself. Best guess is that she was picked up by another bounty hunter trying to scavenge Fett's crumbs."

He indicated to his desk, barked out an empty laugh.

"That's all this place is good for now. Scavengers. I'm trying to rescue what I can from this mess I've built before I have to get out of here for good."

"I hope you don't expect me to feel sorry for you," Leia sniped. "You shouldn't have betrayed us."

"I shouldn't have helped set you free, either," Lando grumbled. "That is why they took my city."

But his sternness seemed half-hearted.

"Let me show you something."

He pushed open the back door and indicated down at an adjacent landing platform.

"I've seen that ship before," he remarked. "You?"

Leia shook her head. Anakin pondered by her side, arms folded.

"Lot of mods on that ship," he observed.

"A lot of mods," Lando agreed. "Poorly done and distastefully designed. Made with hunting bounty in mind."

He turned back to his small audience.

"Belongs to Boushh. Bounty hunter from Uba IV. It's a real piece of work of a ship. Wouldn't blame him for taking the chance to trade up."

"Kriff's sakes," Leia muttered.

They were supposed to be rescuing Han and instead she would be chasing this stupid ship-thieving bounty hunter across the karking galaxy. It wasn't fair. What sort of serious bounty hunter had a ship so bad they were better off stealing the Falcon? Why hadn't Boushh modded his stars-damned ship better? The injustice of it all was infuriating.

"It's not a waste of time," Anakin murmured, reading her. "Tell you what, Leia. We've got our best chance of getting Han out cleanly if you give me a bit of time to do some ground-work on Tatooine. I can get started while you chase the ship."

Leia blinked her surprise.

"I trust you," her father affirmed. "Just don't tear poor Boushh to pieces, okay?"

"Poor Boushh?" Leia echoed, appalled.

"Seeing as he's incurred your wrath," Anakin explained.

Leia rolled her eyes. Lando watched them, circumspect.

"You're going to rescue Han?"

Leia bristled.

"Someone has to."

Lando wore the reproach with good grace.

"Yeah. I know. Let me help. I'll come with you."

"No chance," Leia snapped. "I'm doing this with someone I trust."

Lando lifted his gaze, inquisitive, to Anakin.

"Anakin. Leia's dad," he introduced himself. "I'll take you with me to Tatooine, if you want to help. It'll be useful if we can plant someone on the inside."

If Lando was disappointed to be allocated duties inside Jabba's Palace he did not show it.

"Whatever you need."

Leia made sure to maintain her scowl.

"Fine. You lot have fun. You'd better be ready by the time I show up with the Falcon."

But in truth it was a sort of relief to have this freedom ahead of her. A time to travel through streaking space and sit in the sort of silence where she could almost hear Han beside her. A time in which she didn't have to be brave for her father's sake or anyone else's. She knew, quietly, that it was also a time in which she could defer her greatest, gnawing fear – that Han the test subject had been irreparably damaged by the carbon freezing, that there was no great victory awaiting her at mission's end. She didn't have to think about that now. She would chase that bounty hunter across the galaxy and she would reclaim the Millennium Falcon for her own. It was their place and always would be. No matter what happened to Han.

"I'll take Chewie with me," Leia proposed. "But don't you dare think about landing me with one of the droids. It'll be a quick job."

Artoo gave a whistle of half-hearted indignation; Leia had not long known the droid but got the distinct impression he was quite unwilling to leave her father's side anyway. Anakin gave the loyal droid a smile before turning back to Lando and Leia.

"We'll all see each other again on Tatooine, huh?"

"Soon," Leia affirmed.

Lando rubbed at his forehead, looked at his desk.

"I don't think there's much left for me here. I'll pack a bag."

Luke vaulted from his X-wing, pulled his helmet from his head. He pushed his fringe, damp with sweat, from where it stuck against his forehead.

"Hell of a welcome back!"

Ahsoka, meanwhile, hadn't worked up a sweat at all; she beheld him with a smirk, only the faintest flush of colour in her skin.

"You're out of practice, Luke. Wait 'til you see the job we've got waiting for you in the Corva sector."

Their boots echoed on the hangar floor; there was no throng of rebels to welcome them home, as there had been after the Battle of Yavin. The Alliance was too scattered and the rebels overall too few, these days.

"Out of practice?" Luke echoed. "You mustn't have noticed the three fighters I took off your tail for you."

Ahsoka waved a dismissive hand.

"They weren't on my tail. Just vaguely in my proximity. They weren't going to catch me."

"Sure, sure."

There was nothing like the elation of flying; Luke had not glimpsed joy like this even once in all of his meditation and training on Dagobah. And Ahsoka might have teased him for being out of practice but in truth it had all come back so naturally to him. It had been easy. His perfect place.

"Fuel refill?"

The makeshift base was nothing compared to Yavin 4 but was not entirely deserted. A mechanic approached in a worn-out jumpsuit, an enormous can of fuel upon her shoulder.

"Yes please."

She fixed Luke with a brilliant smile and ignored Ahsoka's request for the same. Other rebels filtered into the hangar, Rex amongst them, as the ringing in Luke's ears began to fill slowly with chatter.

"Nicely done out there."

"Thanks."

Ahsoka arched a brow in the direction of Luke's X-wing, which was receiving more mechanic attention than it probably deserved.

"Did they forget that the rest of us did anything?"

"Luke's a celebrity," Rex reminded her.

Ahsoka threw up her hands in feigned irritation.

"A handsome young celebrity pilot rolls in after two years of absence and they forget all about the commander who's been looking after them day in and day out…"

"I don't think it has anything to do with-"

Luke halted his protest before he could be rebutted; the words were flimsy the moment he heard them from his mouth. Ahsoka was no Padawan in the Force and even Rex could tell. He hoped he wasn't blushing.

"I'm not interested," he grumbled, instead.

Ahsoka gave him a knowing look.

"You've given your heart to another?"

"I'm supposed to be becoming a Jedi," Luke protested.

Ahsoka laughed.

"Take it from a real Jedi: those of us who are left gave up on that part of the Code a long time ago. There's hope for you yet, Luke. Promise."

Luke shrugged and said nothing. It wouldn't do much good to tell Ahsoka how determined Ariarne was to be apart from him these days. He hoped she was right. He hoped there was hope for him – for them – yet. Ariarne had said it wouldn't be forever.

"You said there was a job for me in the Corva sector?" he asked, instead.

He hoped it would not be forever; he hoped they would cross paths again soon. In the meantime, he'd fill his mind with routes to fly and battles to be won and pass the time as quickly as he could. Maybe if he blew up two Death Stars, Ariarne might come around to him.

Pacing, as always, is my nemesis. Next chapter might be a fortnight away as I juggle all this lovely plotliness with another run of night shifts but I'll do my best. Let me know your thoughts as to how it's all unfolding!

Next chapter, the quest to rescue Han continues, as does Ariarne's search for her history.

xx - S.