Fic: "Ameliorate" -- 1/1, PG
Title: "Ameliorate"
Author: deaka
Keywords: one-shot, angst, AU
Timeframe: Five years after RotJ
Characters: Luke, others
Summary: Wounds sometimes linger in unexpected ways.
A/N: Many thanks to gabri-jade for being an invaluable second set of eyes.
X-posted at TFN.
Warm hands touched his shoulders from behind, and Luke Skywalker leaned his head back wearily. “Hey,” he said.
The woman behind him smiled, red hair falling over her ears as she leaned to kiss his forehead. “Long day?”
“Yeah.” He sighed, pushing the datapad away from him. “Feel like sparring?”
“Maybe later.” She lifted an eyebrow, and he grinned. She moved around to sit on his desk, arms crossed as she glanced down at his stack of datacards. “Find anything useful?”
“Not really.” He got up and slid his hands around her waist, above the notched belt of her flightsuit. She’d pulled off the long-sleeved top half, leaving it dangling. The sleeveless shift underneath showed off the old scars on her arms. “I could use some help, you know.”
She pulled a face. “I’d rather be flying.”
“So would I, to be honest.” He kissed her. She tilted her face to him, her lips warm, tasting of Coruscanti caf, the expensive stuff. Her knee pressed into his thigh until she shifted. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and kissed the scuff of oil by her mouth. More than anything it told him she’d come straight home, not even taking the time to check her normally meticulous appearance.
“Besides,” she murmured, “I hardly think it would encourage trust in the Jedi, to have me associated with your efforts. Bad enough that we’re sleeping together.”
He pulled back and frowned at her. “Has someone said something?”
“Not recently.” She shrugged. “My history is well known, though.”
“I trust you.”
She smiled, and hooked a finger in his tunic, tugging him closer. “I know,” she said. “Some say that’s not your brain doing the thinking.” She saw his expression and laughed. “Oh, don’t get upset.”
“I don’t see how you can not find it upsetting.”
“Who says I don’t?” She shook her hair back sharply from her face, and stretched, then untangled herself from him, pushing off the desk and striding across the room. The way she walked was deliberate, provocative and poised, drawing attention to her body. She knew what she was doing, old training deeper than thought. He schooled himself not to respond, whatever his instinctive reaction was.
“Did you see that woman again today?” she asked.
“Mara Jade?” he said. “Yes. She still wants to kill me, she says.”
“I wouldn’t let her get close enough.” Shira gave him a knife-edged smile.
“I don’t think she’s genuine,” Luke said. “Her head’s… a bit messed up.”
“She’s insane?” She was still moving, though her pace had fallen into the quick stride that left him behind half the time they went out together.
“No,” Luke sighed. “Not that. She’s very sharp, actually. Just-”
“Messed up. Like me?” She threw him a smile, strangely jagged. “Should I be worried?”
“Like you were,” Luke said. “And no.”
“Degrees of damage,” Shira murmured.
He pretended not to understand. He didn’t mention that Mara Jade reminded him of her, back when she’d been angry and bitter and half-indoctrinated, spitting fire and resistance and hate.
He didn’t mention that he felt a pull toward the other woman, and yes, she was attractive. Without Shira’s scars, but probably scarred on the inside in similar ways.
“You’re a strange man,” Shira said.
Then again, he thought, she always did know him terribly well. He gave her a confused look. She laughed and put her arms around him.
“Maybe I should meet this Mara Jade,” she said. “See what she’s like.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Luke said.
“Don’t you?”
“She could be dangerous.”
“Mm,” Shira said. “She could.” She regarded him a moment, then her arms tightened, drawing him close. “Remember when you shot me down?”
“I remember.”
“I played my hand too soon. I should have waited until we were on a mission.”
“To try to kill me?”
“I could have tampered with your X-wing. Made it look like a flight control problem. Tragic accident.”
“But there would have been a chance I’d escape somehow.”
“That was what I thought. I didn’t want to take the risk.”
“And I shot you down instead.”
“You pulled me out of the burning X-wing, twisted, everything broken.”
He remembered the night as a linked nightmare of black stars and flames, the stench of propellant burning, the ranker odour of flesh and hair aflame. The prosthetic skin on his hand fusing in the heat. Her screams of hatred, pure animal fury, mingling with his own shouts, voice hoarse from smoke and tears, demanding to know why, how long, how could she. Her skin flaking away in his hands as he pulled her twisted body out of the wreckage.
“I hated you,” she said, giving him a smile shadowed in blood and ash.
“Mm,” Luke said. “I thought you were dead.”
She blinked, and for a moment, looked startled. “I didn’t know that.”
He shrugged. She caught his tunic and kissed him. He felt her presence in the Force, a shining strength, seamed with a dark twisted scar like a long, half-healed bruise.
His fingers brushed her hand, prosthetic flesh to prosthetic flesh. He bent to her ear and whispered, “I have a better idea than sparring.”
“You catch on at last,” she said. He kissed the scars on the side of her face, and she tightened her arms around him, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave bruises.
He drew her slowly down.
-end-
Author: deaka
Keywords: one-shot, angst, AU
Timeframe: Five years after RotJ
Characters: Luke, others
Summary: Wounds sometimes linger in unexpected ways.
A/N: Many thanks to gabri-jade for being an invaluable second set of eyes.
X-posted at TFN.
Warm hands touched his shoulders from behind, and Luke Skywalker leaned his head back wearily. “Hey,” he said.
The woman behind him smiled, red hair falling over her ears as she leaned to kiss his forehead. “Long day?”
“Yeah.” He sighed, pushing the datapad away from him. “Feel like sparring?”
“Maybe later.” She lifted an eyebrow, and he grinned. She moved around to sit on his desk, arms crossed as she glanced down at his stack of datacards. “Find anything useful?”
“Not really.” He got up and slid his hands around her waist, above the notched belt of her flightsuit. She’d pulled off the long-sleeved top half, leaving it dangling. The sleeveless shift underneath showed off the old scars on her arms. “I could use some help, you know.”
She pulled a face. “I’d rather be flying.”
“So would I, to be honest.” He kissed her. She tilted her face to him, her lips warm, tasting of Coruscanti caf, the expensive stuff. Her knee pressed into his thigh until she shifted. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and kissed the scuff of oil by her mouth. More than anything it told him she’d come straight home, not even taking the time to check her normally meticulous appearance.
“Besides,” she murmured, “I hardly think it would encourage trust in the Jedi, to have me associated with your efforts. Bad enough that we’re sleeping together.”
He pulled back and frowned at her. “Has someone said something?”
“Not recently.” She shrugged. “My history is well known, though.”
“I trust you.”
She smiled, and hooked a finger in his tunic, tugging him closer. “I know,” she said. “Some say that’s not your brain doing the thinking.” She saw his expression and laughed. “Oh, don’t get upset.”
“I don’t see how you can not find it upsetting.”
“Who says I don’t?” She shook her hair back sharply from her face, and stretched, then untangled herself from him, pushing off the desk and striding across the room. The way she walked was deliberate, provocative and poised, drawing attention to her body. She knew what she was doing, old training deeper than thought. He schooled himself not to respond, whatever his instinctive reaction was.
“Did you see that woman again today?” she asked.
“Mara Jade?” he said. “Yes. She still wants to kill me, she says.”
“I wouldn’t let her get close enough.” Shira gave him a knife-edged smile.
“I don’t think she’s genuine,” Luke said. “Her head’s… a bit messed up.”
“She’s insane?” She was still moving, though her pace had fallen into the quick stride that left him behind half the time they went out together.
“No,” Luke sighed. “Not that. She’s very sharp, actually. Just-”
“Messed up. Like me?” She threw him a smile, strangely jagged. “Should I be worried?”
“Like you were,” Luke said. “And no.”
“Degrees of damage,” Shira murmured.
He pretended not to understand. He didn’t mention that Mara Jade reminded him of her, back when she’d been angry and bitter and half-indoctrinated, spitting fire and resistance and hate.
He didn’t mention that he felt a pull toward the other woman, and yes, she was attractive. Without Shira’s scars, but probably scarred on the inside in similar ways.
“You’re a strange man,” Shira said.
Then again, he thought, she always did know him terribly well. He gave her a confused look. She laughed and put her arms around him.
“Maybe I should meet this Mara Jade,” she said. “See what she’s like.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Luke said.
“Don’t you?”
“She could be dangerous.”
“Mm,” Shira said. “She could.” She regarded him a moment, then her arms tightened, drawing him close. “Remember when you shot me down?”
“I remember.”
“I played my hand too soon. I should have waited until we were on a mission.”
“To try to kill me?”
“I could have tampered with your X-wing. Made it look like a flight control problem. Tragic accident.”
“But there would have been a chance I’d escape somehow.”
“That was what I thought. I didn’t want to take the risk.”
“And I shot you down instead.”
“You pulled me out of the burning X-wing, twisted, everything broken.”
He remembered the night as a linked nightmare of black stars and flames, the stench of propellant burning, the ranker odour of flesh and hair aflame. The prosthetic skin on his hand fusing in the heat. Her screams of hatred, pure animal fury, mingling with his own shouts, voice hoarse from smoke and tears, demanding to know why, how long, how could she. Her skin flaking away in his hands as he pulled her twisted body out of the wreckage.
“I hated you,” she said, giving him a smile shadowed in blood and ash.
“Mm,” Luke said. “I thought you were dead.”
She blinked, and for a moment, looked startled. “I didn’t know that.”
He shrugged. She caught his tunic and kissed him. He felt her presence in the Force, a shining strength, seamed with a dark twisted scar like a long, half-healed bruise.
His fingers brushed her hand, prosthetic flesh to prosthetic flesh. He bent to her ear and whispered, “I have a better idea than sparring.”
“You catch on at last,” she said. He kissed the scars on the side of her face, and she tightened her arms around him, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave bruises.
He drew her slowly down.
-end-