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Ship docked, Mara and Bant begin power down procedures. There are unnatural hisses and grinding noises. It’s probably time for Jade’s Fire to see some extensive overhaul. Mara sucks on her teeth, wondering where the credits will come from. Her new pension’s not much and despite everything, it seems strange to ask Luke.
Jade’s Fire was the first thing that was wholly hers: she earned it.
(She understands Han’s need for constant work on the Falcon somewhat better, even if his heart would be better invested elsewhere.)
The hangar is filled with the flurry of activity of the New Republic’s reorganized Academy. Mara thinks it’s stupid they dismantled a perfectly good organization to put up their own, but then that was the point of the rebellion.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mara spots Luke and R2 milling around an old X-wing, removed from Rogue Squadron running drills.
“Go on ahead back to the Temple, I’ll catch up with you later,” Mara waves Bant on.
Assured her student’s made for the exit and not gotten distracted herself, Mara saunters over to Luke.
“I thought you were all done with this,” she teases, gesturing to the sad, dented fighter.
R2 beeps something she doesn’t catch all of.
“What did he say?”
Luke slides out from under the ship to great her properly. (It’s been one of the longer weeks of her life, since she left.) Breaking apart, Luke grimaces. “Not anything worth repeating.”
Mara smirks then leans into Luke for a second kiss, holding this one longer. R2 makes a sort of whining groan.
Finally, “So what do you think?”
“Think of what?”
Luke pats the side of the X-wing, “This. Ninora found it in a scrap pile, but Wedge said if I could get it back to working order, I could have it.”
His excitement reminds Mara of Han on certain days about the Falcon. (They are brothers in more ways than one.)
Mara gives it a one over, “It certainly looks like it needs to be scrapped. You fly it at some point?”
“Not this one, although it’s the same mark Rogue was flying when we were based on Hoth.”
“What happened to yours?”
“Lost it on Bespin.”
Luke hides his discomfort well; Mara loosens her grip around his waist some.
Then Mara raises an eyebrow, “Don’t you have a padawan you should be teaching?”
“Set’s with Jiro for the day. And I’ve only been working on it when there’s been free time.”
“Isn’t free time supposed to be with me?” Mara teases, her voice much lower this time. No more nights camped out in the hangar for him.
Luke rests his elbows on the X-wing’s ladder, “Who says it can’t be both?”
Mara rolls her eyes, “I’ve flow these things same as you and I still don’t understand what’s so incredible about them.”
Luke grabs her hand unexpectedly and starts up the ladder, “Come on.”
“What the hell, there’s no –”
R2 chatters about responsibilities (with hearty obscenities one expects from the droid) are mixed with the startup noises of the X-wingand the cockpit slams shut.
It’s too cramped when it’s just herself in one these, but it’s funny how with Luke reaching around her for the controls and breathing on her exposed neck she doesn’t notice it nearly as much.
“See our exit?” she asks, shifting her weight in his lap. As if Luke’s actually paying attention to the dozens of Antilles’ little pilots he could accidentally hit.
Focus back to his original purpose, “Just prime the engine. I can’t reach it with you in here.”
Mara entertains the idea of distracting him further, compromising with running her hands under his shirt. Already half rolled down, she strategizes how the rest of his flight suit will come down.
The jostling of the fighter cuts out when it breaks atmosphere, then runs smooth.
Luke goes for her pants; Mara fights with his.
“I think you’ve done this before.”
“A few times.”
Luke isn’t his usual blushing modesty. Mara redoubles her efforts; interrupted by Luke’s success.
It is a game of push and pull; as she forces him far back in the seat, he arches her out towards the stars.
(Maybe it was his intent all along, to put her here with his beloved sky, or maybe it’s easy, or maybe it’s both and they are hungry for want of each other.)
It takes effort, but they find a way to Mara twist around and look out with Luke.
She knows they are dimmed by the light of Coruscant below them but –
“They really are beautiful,” she says quietly.
“Yeah,” Luke concurs.
There’s a beep over the comm, startling both of them.
“R2 says you’re breaking safety procedures, and I really don’t want to have to explain to the galaxy how you died on my watch.”
Before she stops herself, Mara lets out a bark of laughter. Antilles’ pointed and frustrated tone says everything.
There’s a pause as Antilles considers what to say next, then, “And since it’s good to fly again, the fighter’s yours.”
The comm clicks off and it is only them again.
“Well, since this is officially yours, there’s nothing stopping us from staying up here forever.”
“Mmhm,” Luke agrees, making lazy circles on Mara’s back.
It is unhurried until Luke seems to jerk out of it.
“What?”
“I just remembered – I promised Leia I’d watch Pres tonight.”
Mara holds back a grimace. Keeping an eye on Pres so Leia and Han can have a night of uninterrupted sex (or sleep) means she and Luke will have just the opposite.
“We better head back then.”
She pulls her shirt back on; then spots her pants and his flight suit crumpled together.
“How do we –”
Luke laughs and shrugs, “That’s something I never figured out. We land in a corner and hope we don’t get caught.”
Mara chuckles, “So you really haven’t done this too often have you?”
“Nope.”
(Their bed awaits them below; their stars will await them above.)