They Dance

Sweat burns his eyes as his body twists and turns. The dozen remotes flitter around him on little puffs of air as they fire a near constant stream of ruby colored darts towards him. The saber in his hand thrums at varying pitches as he swings the blade in ever widening arcs, catching the low powered blasts.

The grin plastered on his face grows slightly larger as he feels someone approaching the cargo hold which the Jedi on board use as a training room. The whisper-shush of the door opening, and the clapping of boots intrude upon his awareness.

Yet he continues to flip and dive, dodge and slip through the random bolts of coherent light. He flips up and over, landing in a crouch facing her. He has a second to look at her, to take in the black cat suit, and long, flowing red hair as he ducks under a remote that was diving towards his former position. As soon as that remote passes overhead, he flips backwards into the midst of the circling remotes, his saber moving in a blur to deflect the darts.

Absently he notes a secondary echo to the thrum of his saber.

Then his purple blade is connected with a blue one. The hiss of two sabers pushing against each other sounds loud in the confines of the training area. His blue eyes focus on her green ones, flickering down to the smirk on her face.

The puff of an air jet draws his attention as one of the bolts strikes him in the back of the thigh. Grunting less in pain than in surprise, he lessens the pressure which his blade is exerting against Mara’s, allowing hers to push his down in a half circle. He grins as he suddenly twists his saber handle, knocking her blade wide.

He jumps back, putting more distance between them, the grin on his face eerily reminiscent of his father’s.

Her lips quirk slightly as one eyebrow lifts. “Nice, Solo.”

He nods once, as the remotes dive between them, firing bolts towards them both. Their blades move in conjunction, dodging and blocking the bolts, while occasionally crashing together.

His eyes narrow as their blades flicker back and forth, purple and blue shining, and throwing highlights over them both, interrupted by the occasional explosion of the red darts, and the searing white of connection.

He enjoys this movement, the duel, the fight. There is something calming about two opponents extending their skills and abilities against each other. The sounds of the remotes and sabers, the smell of ozone that hangs in the air, the flashes of light.

It’s fun.

The flicker of his blade and it connects not with hers, but slices through a portion of one of the remotes. It falls at Mara’s feet, and his eyes widen as he can feel the remote’s power supply begin to overload.

He reaches out with the Force and throws the remote towards the ceiling.

The resulting explosion is not large. It doesn’t even produce enough fire and smoke to darken the paint on the ceiling.

But it is enough to set off the sprinklers.

As the first drop of water smacks against his upturned face, his brow creases and his eyes narrow.

He continues to stare up at the ceiling, squinting his eyes against the water as it splashes on his upturned face. Without looking at her, he asks the question which is bugging him. “Why would Booster use water as a fire suppression system? Why not the usual fire-retardant foam?”

By this time the water is falling steadily, a strong rain that drenches them both.

He finally drops his gaze from the ceiling and looks at Mara.

The falling water has caused her hair to hang limp against her face, a scowl and a frown darken her face as she turns her attention towards Anakin.

“You just had to throw it all the way up to the ceiling didn’t you?”

He lowers his eyes and tucks his chin against his chest, even as a sheepish grin appears. “Sorry Aunt Mara.”

She looks down at her sodden jumpsuit, and then holding out her arms slightly turns her glare back onto him. “And what about my outfit?”

He looks up at her again; his grin falls away for a split second, before reappearing, even more roguish than usual. He places his saber at his belt as he snaps his heel together. Then in one slow move he places one hand at the small of his back, and bows towards her, holding out his other arm towards her in a formal pose.

He straightens, his arm still held towards her as he watches her eyebrow quirk again.

“And what exactly is your plan here Solo?”

“Dad always said, ‘what’s the point of the rain if you’re not going to dance in it?’”

She looks at him, then down at his hand, then up at the falling water and finally her gaze settles back onto his face.

“This isn’t exactly rain you know.”

He shrugs. “Close enough.”

She smiles and laughs, giving her head a slight shake even as her hand slips into his.

He pulls her closer, the hand that he held behind his back slipping out and around her waist.

He pauses for a second, assuring himself that she recognizes the dance he intends from their starting pose.

Then with matching smiles, and water-drenched hair, they dance.