everything I am not

Summary: She has spent two decades either hunting down or running from Luke Skywalker. OneShot- Mara and a sudden change in pace. Or perhaps, not so sudden.

Warning: -

Set: Seven years after the Thrawn-Crisis, two years prior to the Camaas-Crisis.

Disclaimer: Standards apply. Inspiration and title from Vienna Teng's "Stray Italian Greyhound".

A/N: I received a review from you, GW155, but I couldn't answer. I'd like to thank you for your kind words for my fic "Tempered Steel" – your thoughts on it were exactly what I had wanted to put into the story. Thank you very much.

Where do I go when every 'no' turns into 'maybe'?
[Vienna Teng, Stray Italian Greyhound]

The stars flashed brilliantly as the Sabre jumped into hyperspace.

Mara Jade checked the estimated rendezvous time with the Wild Karrde, recorded a short message and encrypted it. It went out along with a pre-fixed little text that, to any other reader, would sound like a notice of absence sent automatically in response to a received message. It wasn't paranoia (just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean that there isn't someone following me), it was the sensible thing to do. Again, she checked the status displays on her left: all systems green. The weapons console showed the laser-cannons on stand-by, the shields were fully powered and ready to come up within a few seconds if needed. The early-warning system was active but showed no alerts. Cabin and hull pressure were within standard ranges, the boosters were set and the gravity sensors worked flawlessly. The temperature in the cooling compartment was oh-point-seven degrees higher than standard, but-

Sighing, Mara leaned back and let her aimless gaze wander over the ship's controls in front of her. The Sabre was running flawlessly. There was nothing else she could do in order to force herself not to think of the encounter that just had taken place. Curse you, Skywalker. Mara had spent two decades of her life on that useless Jedi: hunting him, hating him, then helping him and finally walking away from him as quickly as possible. And the latter not because he'd done something wrong, but because of what she was and what she couldn't be. Now, it seemed, she had finally hit the dead end.

"Mara," Skywalker greeted her.

Mara nodded back at him. She had not specifically been trying to avoid him but she had hoped he might not be there, perhaps. It wasn't that she disliked the Jedi Master, or somehow tried to avoid him altogether. But there was no denying that she felt awkward around him. After all they'd been through, after her fruitless attempts (not half-hearted, she told herself firmly, but fruitless) to kill him, after their march through the jungle of Mykr and Karrde's rescue, after C'Baoth and a short descent into darkness on his side, Skywalker had shown no inclination to remain distant towards her. Rather the opposite, and she still couldn't understand why he didn't dislike her. Mara wasn't sure whether the man actually was physically and mentally able to hate someone, but it didn't matter: he'd seen her as a friend, and a comrade, and never had judged her by her past. He even had offered to train her as a Jedi. He had given her his father's light saber – and, after some months, Mara had simply left his Academy, serving him a half-cooked excuse and no real explanation, and had left without looking back.

He didn't seem to have taken it too hard.

Still, she felt awkward every time she saw him, and especially when she (or Karrde) had business with him. Into her awkwardness, another feeling mixed, seeped in at his sight and strengthened at the sound of his voice. Mara knew it was irrational, but she couldn't help herself: she felt angry. He hadn't even tried to convince her to stay. Free will be damned: he could have invested a little more into trying to make her stay. While she was at that: he could have invested a bit more into her training, as well, seeing as she was already rudimentarily Force-trained and not one of his precious innocent, completely clueless, little fledglings. As usual, she took a deep breath and let go of her anger (that, at least, he had managed to teach her personally). It was a stupid reason to be angry at him, after all: she wasn't special or anything. She was just Mara Jade, ex-Hand of the Emperor, assassin, spy, smuggler and businesswoman. It had been one year, ten months and sixteen days since she had left Yavin Four.

"Skywalker," she nodded back. They were the only ones in the Hall of Light. If he asked, she'd tell him that she'd met Corran there a few minutes ago, but in truth she had been looking for a bit of peace to calm her mind.

"What are you up to?" Skywalker didn't look at her as he asked. Instead, his gaze seemed to wander their surroundings and returned to the data pad he was holding, as if he wanted to read its content and knew it was impolite to do so while she was present. He was distracted, his mind clearly somewhere else, but he let her exit the Hall first and followed her down the corridor and towards the hangar complex. Even his kriffed Force presence felt vague. Don't ask if you don't care, damnit. Mara felt annoyed and therefore made an especially friendly face.

"Oh, nothing big. There is this Jedi Master that keeps getting involved in all of the galaxy's problems. It is usually when everything goes to hell that he realizes he needs something or other to solve the problems that weren't his in the first place, and he asks my boss. Who sends me to solve problems that weren't even mine to begin with. This time, if I recall correctly, he wanted Ysalamiri again, for whatever reason if not for his sole whim. But nothing important, thanks for asking."

Luke nodded absentmindedly. "Good to hear."

Mara stared at him for a second, torn between anger and helpless laughter. "Force, Skywalker," she said. "You haven't heard a word of what I've been saying, have you?"

His eyes focused on her for the first time. Blue, icy, cool blue filled with kindness, humor and depth: it was his gaze that got to her, again and again, and– Get a grip, Mara.

Skywalker had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry." He dropped the data pad into one of his many pockets.

"Never mind. Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. Go back to whatever earth-shattering problem you're trying to solve in your mind."

Now he was alert, his full attention directed towards Mara, and, as usual, the impact of his gaze made her want to inch away from him, turn and run. "No, please. I need to take a break anyway. Would you like some caf? Come on, I'll get you one. You still have time until the Sabre is unloaded completely, don't you."

Because Mara Jade did not run from complications but faced them straight on she shrugged. "Why not?" She did like to spend time with him. When he wasn't being the all-knowing Jedi Master, at least.

"So… I've asked before, but I might not have been listening that closely."

Skywalker maneuvered into the chair on the other side of the small table in the cafeteria she had chosen and smiled wryly. "What have you been up to these days, Mara?"

The caf he placed in front of her was light brown and looked like a hearty swig of milk had been added. On the side of the small dish were two bags of sweetener. Frowning, she looked at it before emptying the contents of both into the beverage. Had he known how she liked her caf, or was it just coincidence? She took a sip – it was hot, sweet, and bitter at the same time – and then looked at the Jedi Master in front of her. He was smiling sunnily.

For some reason the smile seemed… wrong. Too much smile and too little… truth. Mara blinked, confused.

"Nothing in particular," she said finally. "I'm running operations for Karrde, as usual. It's been quite calm these days. It's a good time for business."

Skywalker wrapped both his hands around something that looked creamy like caf but had a darker, richer color. A sweet scent emanated from it. Mara suppressed the urge to ask what it was. "Anything you've heard of that has piqued your interest?"

"Phrase it like that, Skywalker, and it sounds like you're asking me whether Imperial Moffs are having midlife crises, changing their hair style and suddenly are telling the truth."

Her sarcastic remark elicited a grin. "I don't care particularly much about the Moff's hair style, although I must confess I would like to meet a politician who isn't versed in creative truth-telling. But I know you have a good intuition when it comes to… Well." For the lack of a better word, he stopped and shrugged. This was why he never would be a good politician, Mara thought. This man was just too honest. Except that his smile hadn't been, just now. "I was just wondering… It's been so calm. It usually means somewhere, a storm is brewing."

"Need another crisis you can meddle with? Don't you have enough people to pick fights with these days?"

"I'm just asking if you've noticed any threat out there these last months," he replied calmly, shattering all her excuses for another stinging remark. "I wasn't trying to pick a fight."

"The hell you were," Mara muttered. It made him chuckle. Scrutinizing him, waiting for a sign of the earlier false smile to appear, she was dumb-founded by how much this small smile suddenly was different from the last one. Had there always been such a difference? And why had she never noticed? "Anyway," she steered clear of the topic, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. "How is life at the Academy?"

Something changed in his Force aura, something too subtle for her to puzzle out without further inquiry. The smile didn't fade from his face, although it went back to its usual general friendliness. Wrong. There, again: this bright, sunny smile, all Skywalker, and yet different. It gave her the feeling something was lurking in the depths of it, as if a Skywalker had appeared she didn't know, couldn't apprehend. And Mara wasn't sure whether she wanted to know what it was or run into the other direction. "You know how it is. Students, knights and teachers all under one roof and the rest out there… It makes logistics incredibly difficult, keeps a constant level of expectation – and noise – and everything and everyone seems to constantly be a step ahead of you. Same good, old insanity. Keeps you on your toes."

Mara looked at him and tried to figure out whether he was being ironic, sarcastic, cynical, melancholic, distressed or plainly Luke Skywalker. It was hard to say. He definitely sounded like the person Mara knew, but there was an undercurrent that made her wonder – just what had he been up to, these last months? She'd certainly heard a lot of his adventures, but she wasn't sure how much they had affected him personally. And-

"There's this student," Luke continued and Mara almost gasped with the shock that he was telling her something that did not concern her in the least, that obviously had been bugging him for quite some time. "She's had a pretty rough childhood. Both her parents are dead; she grew up on the streets. She trusts nobody and she's extremely talented. Kam and Tionne have been having trouble even talking to her and I was thinking…" He seemed to suddenly realize what he had been saying, and stopped.

"Sorry, Mara," he said after a few seconds, casting his eyes down ashamedly. "I shouldn't have told you that. It's not your concern. It's just that I have been trying to think of a way, any way, to get her to trust us but she is so… angry and scared. She reminds me of…" Again, he stopped, frowning.

"How old is she?" Mara asked, to her own surprise.

"Twelve." Skywalker toyed with the rim of his cup. His hands were worn and calloused, his fingers long and thin. "But it's nothing you should think about, Mara, this is my problem. I'll find a way-" His voice trailed off, his eyes shifted out of focus. Here was the man that tried everything to help a scared, angry girl, Mara thought, and yet she felt resentment towards him. It was completely unreasonable – completely insane – why had she thought he would treat her differently than any lost little orphan from the streets? He had tried as hard with her as he did with the child now and Mara had thanked him by leaving. He would break though the child's walls, eventually, because it was what Luke Skywalker did. The girl would come to trust him, as Mara had learned to trust him. He had walked right through every shield she had ever thrown up, had made himself at home. And Mara was still left struggling to rebuild them while, at the same time, she knew the line could not be uncrossed again. Was she jealous of a child, now? What a ridiculous thought. This was Skywalker. He did those things on a daily basis.

"Be patient," she heard herself saying. "You'll reach her." If anyone can, it will be you.

Skywalker looked at her, surprise clear on his face. It morphed into a smile, a smile so genuinely friendly and kind she did not know whether to resent it or... Else. "You know, Mara, sometimes I think…"

His comlink buzzed.

Mara and he both startled, needing a second to locate and identify the sound. Clearing his throat and throwing her an apologetic look, he took the call.

"Skywalker. Yes. Yes. Is that so? Very interesting. Nevertheless… Thank you. I'll be on my way immediately."

She felt the shift in his attention almost physically: a few minutes before it had been on her, warm and reassuring. Luke Skywalker had looked at her and seen her: he had been one of the few people in this galaxy that did look at her and saw her and not the Emperor's Hand or an assassin or a smuggler or Talon Karrde's Second in Command. Now his attention just swept over her as if she was a piece of furniture.

And stang, it hurt. She wouldn't have thought it could feel like that.

"I'm sorry, Mara, I'll have to leave early," he said, emptying his cup and gathering his robes around him. "There is a problem – nothing we can't handle – the usual stuff. You know."

"Yeah," she said, although she didn't. Mara knew her own problems, and her own responsibilities. She knew Skywalker's, too, or at least the ones he had imposed on himself, but she did not approve of them. "Anyway, thanks for the caf."

"My pleasure. Come again soon, will you? May the Force be with you."

Yeah, yeah.

"And with you." She might have been pissed, but she remembered her manners. Skywalker's right eye brow rose as he felt her emotions. To hell with that psychic sense of his.

Carefully setting her thoughts back in order (and failing in some places but refusing to acknowledge it), Mara returned to the docking bay in which her Sabre was still being unloaded by a few Jedi apprentices and two civilians. They greeted her respectfully and she threatened them not to ruin the paint-job, just for good measure. In her cockpit, she leaned back and glanced at the checklist while not really seeing anything at all. Skywalker had looked the same as always, but also a bit tired. It matched her observation that he was always pushing himself too hard, but then, there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing anyone else could do, either, because people had to know their own boundaries and had to act accordingly. One day he'd have stretched himself so thin he would shatter, and nobody would be there to pick up the pieces because nobody would have noticed. Maybe Luke Skywalker could save the universe ninety-nine times, but what about the hundredth time? If he could save so many others, could he also save himself? And, when it came to it, who would be there to help him? He had a great deal of friends, but would he turn to them when it came to it? She hoped it, for his sake. He had his family, too. That had to account for something. Was she one of the people he regarded as a friend, anyway? Would he come to her if he had a problem? Did she want him to? Stupid, she told herself firmly. Why was she even thinking about this? They weren't exactly friends, much less family. Mara was the distant acquaintance Skywalker just met somewhere after some years, invited for a coffee and would forget as soon as she was out of sight again. And whenever he jumped headfirst into trouble once again she would be far away, somewhere where he couldn't hurt her or make her angry or smile at her like that. As long as she was near, he'd try to solve her problems for her.

Skywalker loved to save people from themselves, after all.

In Mara's opinion, people were responsible for their own actions. There were a myriad of excuses, half of them even legitimate, but in the end everyone had to stand up for his own decisions. Or for the things one did not do, refused to see, tried to ignore. Try as he might, Skywalker would never be able to save mankind from itself. Instead, it was more likely he would forget to save himself in the process. Or go down in any other way, because he always put others before himself and though Mara accepted the part of his teachings that had the Jedi pledge themselves to others she did not see how that meant that he could so easily forget himself. It hurt, the knowledge that he would never listen to anyone who breached exactly this topic, least of all to her. Save yourself, Jedi Master– But the Luke Skywalker now would not want to hear what she could have told him.

His face flashed before her eyes, and her heart twisted strangely. What the-

When Yavin Control finally cleared her ship, she took off almost hastily.

It came to her suddenly, like a revelation from nowhere. There was room for discussion, and also for doubt, but it felt so final she had to grip the armrests of the pilot's chair in order to steady herself. Focusing on breathing only, she listened to her heart-beat: too fast, unsteady. In any other case she would have used a Force technique to calm herself but now she couldn't concentrate enough to even remember one. A small part of her felt like crying. Damn, Skywalker, you destroyed even that. So she concentrated on other things instead: like reason, or logic. Nothing came to her mind except the sole fact, like it was set into durasteel, frozen in carbonite. She could hammer her head against it but she would only come away with a concussion. At the same time every wall she had ever built had come down, reduced to dust and rubble.

Somewhere in hyperspace en route from Yavin Four to Borleias, Mara realizes she is in love with Luke Skywalker. It is not a happy feeling.

Mara Jade spent all her life avoiding such feelings.

As the Emperor's Hand, it was easy to dispel all the emotions she didn't need. It became harder, later on, still under his influence though apparently free: Hating Skywalker had proven strangely difficult once she had gotten to know him better. They had trekked through Mykr's jungle and fought C'Baoth. Once Skywalker had saved her, it had been too late: No way could she pretend it hadn't happened, or that he hadn't made his way through her shields somehow. She tried to repay her debts, but she couldn't make it undone. This one man with his awkwardness and his kindness, the shy farm boy in the mask of a Hero of the Rebellion, the Jedi Master slash Last Hope of the Galaxy slash Savior of Souls, had somehow gained a part of her heart without her permission, without even attempting to do so. His smile, while a lot less contagious than rumors had it, still had an impact on her. Whether she wanted to strangle him or laugh with him did not matter: a person should not hold such a power over another being. It was not fair.

What, a voice in her head whispered, What is fair in life, Mara Jade?

It didn't matter what life was, or how. Fact was that Mara had long outgrown the world of fairytales and love stories, maybe she had a place in it. Perhaps there were people out there who had it: the perfect life. Eternal love: a rose-petal-sprinkled, golden-glowing relationship, laughter in the morning, dinner and warmth in the evening. But these people weren't her. There was no love at first sight, and there was no bright, beautiful future waiting around the corner for her along with the handsome prince in his white space yacht.

And Mara was fine with that.

She'd been bodyguard to a famous holostar once, a – even in Mara's eyes – very pretty woman who had astoundingly more brain than Mara would ever have thought a hundred holostars together could possess. The woman had wanted to get married but had received threats from a stalker – and for some reason she had preferred to delegate her security to Karrde and not to one of the bodyguard agencies that grew like mushrooms from Coruscant's depths. She had been one of the few women Mara had ever respected, even liked. And maybe Katia Vanais had reciprocated because she had talked to Mara like to a friend, not a paid bodyguard. During their conversations she had once mentioned she felt like her life had been half empty without her future husband, and now it seemed complete.

In her opinion Mara's life might have been missing something, but Mara had long ago learned that even half-empty glasses still had content.

So, why her? Why now?

She'd been fine all by herself. Suddenly, she missed him.

Now that she thought of it, Mara could remember other occasions on which this rather ridiculous longing had somehow taken overhand.

A year ago, Karrde had wanted her to talk to an old friend of his, a Commenori who had valuable information and a quite well-balanced grip on stocks and finances, on Coruscant. Mara had flown there and met him in a tapcaf on one of the million little plazas that expanded over the abyss that was the heart of the New Republic's government. She had sat at a small table in a surprisingly comfortable chair, an interesting mixture of caf, vanilla and ice cream before her, and had kept an eye open for her associate when Luke Skywalker passed by and made her hand with the cup in it still so suddenly a droplet of liquid sloshed over the rim. It happened within the blink of an eye: she saw his stocky figure, clad in a nondescript tunica and black boots, his blond hair, dark brown eyes–

No, she realized with a start, it wasn't him. The man who crossed the plaza in quick strides to sweep a voluptuous blonde into his arms where she proceeded to kiss him with vigor was not Luke Skywalker. Didn't even look like him, seen from the front (though it was hard to tell while he was snogging that other woman). How could she have mistaken them even for a second?

Mara carefully set her drink back onto the table and regarded her hand: it looked like always, except for the dark stain. Was it her tired brain being overactive? Why Skywalker? And why, why did her heart feel like someone had closed an iron fist around it and was twisting it painfully?

When she finally did run into him – one month later, on a standard assignment that had her checking on a client's financial background – she stared at him hard, trying to find out why on earth she had been able to recall his features so perfectly. He caught her glance and smiled at her, and Mara turned away abruptly. Her mind was blank. She had to ask the accountant to repeat himself twice. His voice was cool when he inquired whether she actually was interested or if she just was wasting his time and a Bothan in line behind her snickered loudly. Mara glared at him steely but he just shrugged, his snout wriggling in a way that told her quite clearly what he thought of her, while the accountant transferred the requested information to her data pad in cold silence and Mara walked away, trying and failing to not be affected by the entire scene. Skywalker caught her before she left the building and chatted with her friendly enough but Mara was so riled up that she responded colder than necessary. Her Force sense that always went haywire when he was close caught a tendril of confusion and a mental shrug, and the wave of hurt that overcame her was so strong she had to stop in the middle of the street and calm herself.

Idiot Skywalker. Made her a laughing stock and then had the galls to chalk it up to her moods – and Mara couldn't decide whether she wanted to go back immediately and punch him, or never see him again.

It felt like a rather sudden change of pace.

Mara had been running for her whole life, racing through every day, every month and year. Serving, working, accomplishing missions. She couldn't remember when exactly this had started – the fact served as a proof for her theory, anyway, but it did not matter much. Days had lined up after days filled with people she had started to consider friends, with jobs, with milliseconds of reaction time when her danger sense flared up. Next mission, next job, next task – she had kept running for a reason, and she knew it well. And then suddenly the world had come to a stop and had then started to rotate again in an entirely different pace. Disoriented, Mara shook her head to clear it but the strangeness remained. Law of Physics, simple and clear: her mind was still moving onwards while her body had come to a stop, and the influence of velocity was a terrifying feeling. Or perhaps her mind was racing while her body needed a longer time to speed up. Whatever it was – the sensation was strange, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

Frightening.

The only possibility she had was to leave again, to run away as she had always had.

(And Mara finds she can run from him wherever she wants, however fast she manages, and he still will be waiting for her with his foolish smile and his ice-blue eyes that see right through her but he will never see her.)

Four months later she was back on Yavin Four, the Sabre's hangars once again full with stuff the Academy needed and the guest bunk mercifully empty again.

Finally.

Mara was seething – she was so angry she could have gladly screamed but she was careful not to broadcast it into the Force. Who knew what a herd of Skywalker-trained brats would do if they felt her. If Durron was any indication…

Not like you.

Perhaps not, but she was just so exhausted. Mara took a deep breath, fisted her hands until she felt her nails dig into her palms, and stalked off the Sabre praying the nutcase that had the galls to call herself a journalist had been intercepted and put away somewhere safe so she wouldn't run into her once again. Usually it was Karrde's policy to play nice with media people – they always were good connections to have when information was called for – and she had paid them handsomely. But three days in transit with that woman on board had brought Mara close to actually dumping her through the airlock.

"What is it like, living like a smuggler?" She echoed the journalist's words. "Oh, it surely is incredibly exciting! Do you meet real pirates every day?"

A pair of students spotted her and gave her a wide berth in the hallway. Mara continued on towards the cafeteria. She craved a caf – with cream and lots of sweetener, and if she found something pastry-like she wouldn't say no to it. She needed a great dose of instant good mood right now.

"Have you ever been arrested? Oh, I'm sure it was so thrilling!"

"Mara," an amused voice said behind her and she spun around to the familiar Force presence behind her.

"Skywalker," she said by way of greeting, letting a new wave of anger drown the mortification she felt at him having her caught talking to herself. "Please tell me this wasn't your idea."

"What?" Blue eyes fixed on her and she took him in quickly. He seemed even thinner than the last time, but the weariness had disappeared from his features. For now. He sounded genuinely interested and entirely innocent.

"To let a journalist come all the way from Coruscant to Yavin so she can write your biography or whatever she's supposed to do here. Don't expect too much. If she was possessed by a Droch there would be more brain matter in her body than she has in her head right now."

"Wow," Luke said, still emitting amusement to no end. "Someone really got on your nerves. What journalist do you mean?"

"It wasn't your idea to have one shipped here?" Mara massaged her temples.

"Surely not." An edge crept into his voice and he frowned. "There is a journalist in the Temple? Why didn't you notify me earlier?"

"Skywalker." She was close to losing her patience again. "I submitted a complete list of what I have on board, including my passenger, the moment Yavin Control hailed me."

"I'm sorry," Luke said hurriedly, already fumbling out his com. "Of course this is not your fault. Corran? Yes. Listen, I need you to look out for-"

A voice answered and relief flashed over Luke's face. "Really? That's good to hear. I trust you can handle the situation. Skywalker over." Pocketing his comlink again, he smiled at Mara. "Corran has it under control. Apparently she tried to talk to a few apprentices in the Great Hall and they called security. She told you she was being expected?"

"I just taxied her all the way from Coruscant to Yavin," Mara snapped back. "I have nothing to do with anything."

"No, I didn't think that," Luke said and grinned. "She got on your nerves that badly?"

"Out of my head, Skywalker."

"I don't even need to probe you, Mara. I can see that you're upset."

"Hmpf." Mara swallowed her retort, knowing full well it wasn't his fault that she was in such a bad mood. She really didn't want to be cross with him, and–

She made the mistake of looking at him. He was smiling – a small, secret, real smile that made his eyes twinkle and her heart clench painfully. At the same time, she felt her face heat up and she fought it down: she was not going to blush.

"Fine, then." Mara turned away from him and continued briskly on her path. After a second she could hear him hurrying after her.

"Mara," Luke said. "I was on my way to a work-out. Would you care to join me?"

"Why should I?" She did snap at him now and regretted it instantly. Closing her eyes briefly, she stopped and waited for him to close the distance between them.

"I haven't had any sparring training for quite some time. Corran's a good partner for light saber duels, and it is fun training with the apprentices, but I need to polish up on my close-combat skills. You are one of the best hand-to-hand fighters there is. Would you help me?"

I can see what you're doing there, Skywalker. At the same time, she was insanely glad he was patient enough to ask a second time, that he didn't let himself be deterred by her acidic first reply. She couldn't detect any lie in his words – but his blue eyes were gazing at her so innocently she doubted she would have been able to even if this was only a trick of his.

"Now?" She asked, grudgingly. "I didn't bring any training gear."

"The Sabre is docked in Hangar Two, right? We make a detour, you get your stuff, we can use the outdoor facilities. It's been quite some time since I've had a serious opponent. This will be good." And then he started walking, so damn sure she would follow him that she wanted to scream and weep and shake him. But she did follow.

Fighting Luke Skywalker:

Circling each other in a distance of about one meter, carefully probing the opponent, searching for signs, openings – for any weaknesses. Faking a blow, pulling it back, testing defenses – and because Mara lives by the fact that attack is better than defense she is the first to lash out. A punch-kick-combination, followed by a spin, Luke brings his defense down and spins out of the reach of her kick. When she comes around he is waiting for her, hammering a fist into her solar-plexus, Mara half-absorbs the impact as her hand lashes out to hold on to the wrist of his defending hand while her other attempts a punch towards his face. Luke moves, swift and elegant, turning and bringing up his knee and leg for an inverted roundhouse-kick, it is fast but Mara is faster, dropping to the ground and wrenching out his own foot from underneath him. Her legs connect in the one second his stance is unbalanced due to his own movement: Luke crashes to the floor, rolls around in a matter of seconds and catapults himself into the air again, and she waits for him with a straight kick aimed at his head. He blocks the kick, grabs her leg. Mara uses his drag to propel herself forward and hammers a jab at him and when he moves back a tiny bit too slowly she throws herself forward, grabs his shoulders and, at the same time, hooks one foot around his knee. Using her hips she levels him to the ground and throws herself unto him before he can roll away again, effectively pinning him to the ground with all his extremities stretched out and unable to free himself even with his superior body mass.

Both of them are breathing hard.

"I don't think that was a legitimate move," Luke says, sweat running down his face. Mara glowers down at him.

"Street-fight is not about legitimate or not."

And he laughs – his chest heaves under her and his breath meets her face in warm puffs of air and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he throws his head back and laughs, and Mara can see flecks of silver in his eyes.

This is her Luke-

And then she realizes how tightly she is pressed against him. Her chest against his, her legs over his, the heat of his body rising up in waves – and she catapults herself into the air, half mortified and half angry at herself. Luke looks up at her, his hair plastered to his forehead, his chest still heaving from laughter.

"You are amazing, Mara."

"Yeah, well." Her anger is gone, replaced by a giddy sense of exhilaration born from both the fight and the fact that she has won. Fighting Luke is like this: it makes her tingle all over, leaves her tired and sore and still feeling much better than she has before. She isn't sure whether it is the fact that she wins most of the times (at least when it comes to hand-to-hand combat) or the way he regards her when they close in on each other in the arena: as an equal, and as an opponent on his level.

"I've had a lot of practice." And she reaches out and lets him take her hand, tugs him up until he is back on his feet and looks down on her once again. His eyes are still smiling and this, perhaps, is why she lo-

"Next round?" Mara asks abruptly and turns away. Behind her, she feels him smile.

"Always."

After their sparring match Luke let her use his refresher, and when she left the bathroom he had laid out some blue milk and fruit. He accompanied her back to the Sabre and waited patiently until she cleared the pre-takeoff-checklist with the flight captain on duty. He only stopped at the foot of the ramp. He stood there while she marched up and turned around at the top of the ramp: his still-wet hair was falling into his eyes as he smiled up at her.

"That was fun. Let's spar again when you come the next time. You will come, Mara, won't you?"

Mara stared down at him: his beige, loose tunica, his blond hair, boyish features and blue eyes, the smile on his face so much like him. No, she wanted to say. No, because I have a million reasons not to see you, no because I don't like these things I feel when I do see you, no because you're too damn naïve to see what this is. No because you shouldn't be able to hurt me just by smiling at me. Because I might be in love with you but nothing will ever happen, because you won't ever notice and I won't ever tell, so no, I won't come to see you, no, no, no. She should turn around, she thought, leave Yavin without another word and try to not come back as long as she had not sorted out those childish issues her heart refused to let go of. Because what she wanted was something that would never happen. Still, seeing him smile at her like that– Idiot, she thought at herself. It hurts, and yet you continue on. Humans weren't an especially intelligent species, but that was pretty much clear.

"Maybe," she heard herself saying. From the way Luke smiled delightedly she knew he knew at least part of what she had been thinking. But not nearly enough.

And Mara wasn't sure she wanted him to know everything.

Oh, love, the fight is ever the compromise–

(It feels like there has been growing something precious; a small, beautiful flower in the desert of her heart, and knowing it will never bloom makes her weep with grief.)

There had to be a line somewhere, and it was so hard to see when she was balancing on it day by day. There was a feeling she shouldn't be having – but was she really in love with Luke Skywalker, or was she just thinking she was in love? And if it was the latter, why did it hurt? Mara couldn't remember having been in love before. So if she was now – or if she wasn't – shouldn't it be nicer? Flowers and bells and butterflies, staring into empty space, dreaming? Glowing? And if she wasn't, how could she be imagining these things? Life was contradiction, as much as Luke presented contradictions in himself. Kind and still distant, shy and yet determined, and she wanted to touch him so badly she could have screamed. At the same time: what was she was supposed to do? Knowing her love was one that would go nowhere was one thing. Accepting her passivity when it came to it was another. She could talk to him, she actually could ask him to spend more time with her. And he would agree, naïve and polite, and maybe he'd even recognize her reasons as what they were but he'd never return them. They were too different. They had separate lives, were separate people. She saw him every few months – how could she even dare to think there might be more? She just wasn't the type of women for that. Too realistic. Too empty. She just wasn't his type of woman, if she judged by Callista and Gaeriel.

Oh, but how she wished he would notice.

Something. Anything. It had reached the point in which she didn't dare to touch him anymore, for childish, inexplicable reasons she herself had no explanation for, and at this point she knew it would only bring her pain but she knew no other way. Maybe she was a coward. Maybe she was stupid, and childish, and maybe she was pessimistic. What was she supposed to do? There was no first-hand-manual for emotions. Not for Mara Jade. She wouldn't be the first to name the unthinkable thing between them. And it might break her, but she always had been too sensible for heart-break. She could go on. She knew she could. It was just a matter of denial.

One of the things she was really, really good with.

The Sabre fell back from hyperspace and the shadow of another world loomed up before her, rapidly growing bigger. One week of hyperspace travel, and still the distance would never be enough. As long as she carried those feelings, she would always wish to return. Mara leaned forward and pushed the thoughts from her mind, firmly, it left her feeling hollow and cold. But her concentration did not waver: she had other things to do. Equally important things. She had a life – she was strong enough.

"Unidentified yacht, Orbital Control. Identify yourself and state your business."

Mara responded.

It takes Luke two more years until he reciprocates.