A Room With a View of Coruscant

(A/N: This a true Alternate Universe fanfic, events happened slightly differently, relationships might not be what they appear to be.)

It was early afternoon and the skies of Coruscant were slowly turning orange in colour. Traffic was scarce and slow and the few speeders that were in sight were moving lazily, their occupants enjoying the leisurely drive. The only interruption to this quiet afternoon bliss was the sound of irritated voices coming from one speeder in particular.

'We took a left from the Jedi Temple, followed the sky highway west, the compound should be here.' The speaker was female and obviously under stress.

'According to you it should be, but there's a certain lack of Avedame trees and thatched roofs around the area, Bastila.'

'It's not my fault; the directions they gave us must have been faulty. It's the only explanation.'

'Yes, dear.' Bastila glared at her companion.

'You know I hate it when you do that, Mical. There's nothing more irritating than your persistence of reasonable behaviour and acceptance of flawed decisions.'

'Would you rather I accused you of not following the directions correctly and of getting us lost? Then perhaps I would embark on tirade against women drivers and how none of it would have ever happened if I had been at the controls.'

'That's what Revan would have done.' Bastila mumbled.

'I'm not Revan.'

'And I'm not a navigator, you look at the map.'

Mical cleared his throat and looked at the map on the datapad. He glanced significantly at Bastila and then turned the datapad the other way up: 'I think I have located the problem. There was nothing wrong with either the directions of your following of them, I just neglected to ask if you knew which way up the map was supposed to be.'

Bastila took her hands off the controls and returned his glance with considerably more ire before speaking her mind at last: 'I'm preoccupied,' she snapped 'I don't think you comprehend how much pressure I'm under. It's bad enough without us getting lost in hostile territory.'

'Bastila,' Mical began in a tired tone 'This is an air highway on Coruscant. We are still within sight of the Jedi Temple. This isn't heavy traffic let alone hostile territory.'

Bastila let out a deep sigh and slowly relaxed, as she let it disperse, it became clear how much tension she had been holding up until that point. 'I forget that the war's over sometimes.'

'My parents are the same way; unfortunately they behave in that manner all the time, not just when under stress.' Mical leaned over and caressed Bastila's cheek. 'I'm sure they'll love you, you can trade neurosis stories with them and they'd like that.'

'You shouldn't talk about your parents that way; they were both great Jedi and war heroes once.' Bastila might have been reprimanding Mical, but that didn't prevent her from leaning into his touch.

'And now that's all they can remember, they don't know how to survive in times of peace. They still both wear their sabres at all times. My father tried: He became a sports fan, but he still treats every game he sees like a battle campaign.'

Bastila flinched: 'I wish you hadn't reminded me.'

'Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot about that embarrassing mascot incident.'

'I'm not likely to forget about it and I'm sure your father isn't either... although I wish we both could.'

'It wasn't your fault, Bastila, battle meditation requires intense concentration and you were distracted. It was ridiculous of the team to expect you to be able to balance in that Gizka suit and keep the team's moral levels high at the same time.'

'But I made a fool of myself and because of my clumsiness the Jedi academy lost to the Sith academy!'

'At polo, darling, not at war. And now mascots are forbidden from doing acrobatics on the field, so the Jedi acknowledged that they had asked too much of you. My father doesn't need to know that you used to be his team mascot, he probably won't even recognise you without the Gizka suit. It was a long time ago, back when the Sith academy was still active.'

'I'm not comfortable lying to a Jedi Master, even a retired one and he'll certainly know my name, considering our history.'

'I forgot that Revan took over my father's position on the Council, but we hardly talk about such matters anymore. I'm surprised Revan finds the time for Council duties in between seducing girls.' The merest hint of bitterness crept into Mical's voice.

'Are you jealous of Revan, Mical?'

'Not of him, just of the opportunities he had that I missed out on: He made Jedi Knight before the war began, the same war that delayed my own training. He was the first man you loved and he's only alive today because you chose to save his life.'

Bastila laughed a little: 'Have you forgotten that Revan was a Sith Lord? He squandered those opportunities given him and became a monster through his own bad choices. All he does now is to attempt to atone for what can never be atoned; he is haunted by his past actions, by the memories that slowly returned to him.'

'But he is still the first man you loved.'

'And I left him.'

Pink blossom drifted slowly on the breeze as Vrook Lamar snored loudly, his face covered by a copy of 'Lionhead', the Kath Hound breeder magazine. He was seated at a fully laid table in his garden and, being asleep, was completely obvious to the numerous glares being focussed upon him by his wife. Although, in truth, it was hard to discern precisely where her gaze was being focussed, as her eyes were milky white, lacking both iris and pupil. Her scowling expression made up for her lack of sight: She looked like she was contemplating stabbing her husband with a teaspoon.

Kreia used the force to slap Vrook lightly with the magazine, abruptly interrupting both his snores and his nap. 'Your son, our only child, is coming to visit us today. You could at least pretend to be interested in his affairs, particularly since he is coming to ask our blessing. Aren't you the least bit curious about the woman he wants to marry?'

'Whoever she is, she's too good for him.' Vrook grumbled. 'Our son has been nothing but a disappointment even since he was born. He didn't even become a Padawan until after the war was over. The war started by your apprentices, the apprentices you spend so much time nurturing at the expense of your own blood. I suppose we should be thankful Mical didn't follow those headstrong fools and became a bloodthirsty Sith! But then, he always was more interested in book learning than in combat.'

'Have you been watching the Holonet again, husband?' Kreia asked. 'I recall something on the newscast about Revan successfully negotiating peace with the Anzat.' Kreia's tone was neutral, but her mouth formed a knowing smirk.

'That's irrelevant; we're talking about our son's failure!' Vrook's anger only served to prove that his wife was correct in her observation.

'Strangely, I also remember you being given the same task, many years ago. It was how you got that oddly shaped scar, the one on your bot-'

'Damn it woman, this is not about me!'

'Are you sure you're not just using our child as a surrogate? You do seem to be blaming him for all your own failings...'

'Don't try that confounded philosophy of yours on me. It only works on younglings, too naïve to be confident in their own knowledge.'

'Your problem is that you've never been able to see the bigger picture and question what you think you know.'

'My biggest problem is being married to a garrulous old woman; I hope Mical will not make the same mistake and marry such a verbose scold!'

'It is never too late to rectify ones past mistakes...' Kreia stared blankly off into the distance, what she was thinking only she could know. 'I do believe our guests have arrived,' She murmured after a moment.

'Mical, exactly why did your parents retire to a thatched cottage penthouse in the middle of Coruscant?' Bastila asked, staring at the building. It looked just like any other skyscraper on the planet with the exception of the idyllic thatched structure constructed in lieu of a penthouse.

'It is an odd juxtaposition of styles, is it not?' Mical agreed, while flicking pink avadame blossom out of his romantically styled floppy hair. 'I understand that mother wanted to live frugally out on a rural planet in the outer rim somewhere, but father wanted to remain close to the Jedi Temple.'

'So this was their compromise? Personally, I don't find avadame trees particularly frugal. They are pretty, but so wasteful and difficult to clean up once they have shed their blooms.'

'I think father had them planted just to annoy mother, rather futile considering she can't even see them.'

'Reminds me of my mother for some reason...you think the speeder will be safe where we parked it?'

Mical rang the doorbell of the thatched cottage penthouse and winced as it began to play the Republic National Anthem. 'I don't think anyone is going to steal a military speeder, especially not from the home of two Jedi Masters.' As they waited by the door, Mical realised Bastila was distractedly humming along to the anthem and he felt a sudden rush of affection for her.

The door opened and there stood the Lamar maid: a rusty orange protocol droid in a lacy white pinafore. 'Query: Do the meatbags wish to enter the premises or should we just execute them where they stand?'

'We're expected, HK-47.' Mical said dryly. 'We'd like to avoid being massacred by the help if possible; it's such an undignified way to die.'

'Protestation: This unit's designated label is now J33-V3S, please desist from referring to the unit's former label on pain of incineration!'

'I'm suddenly glad Revan installed that forced politeness software before he sold the droid!' Bastila muttered.

'Resigned Invitation: Oh kind guests, please follow me, and take extra care not to accidentally bludgeon yourselves to death on the way, it would be terribly inconvenient to the Masters, not to mention the squishy organic mess it would make. Rhetorical Query: Do you meatbags have any idea how difficult it is to scrub out intestine stains from carpeting?'

'Sometimes I think being bludgeoned to death would be easier than meeting with my family.' Mical grumbled under his breath.

'Mother, father, I'd like you to meet my fiancé...Bastila Shan.' Mical managed to sound rather confident as he greeted his family, but he was preparing himself for an outburst from either of his parents at any time.

'Why is that name so familiar?' Vrook mumbled, squinting at Bastila.

'I...I was part of the Jedi strike team that helped rebuild Revan's mind, Master Lamar.' Bastila said, flushing slightly.

'Oh, the Padawan with the Battle Meditation,' Vrook mused. 'You were quite the poster child for the Jedi Order when you were younger. I heard Revan seduced you and you fell to the dark side as a result...'

'Father!' Mical exclaimed, reaching for Bastila's hand.

'Now Vrook, darling, you know what utter gossips the Jedi council can be sometimes.' Kreia said in a conciliatory tone while using the force to pour tea for her guests. 'Besides, falling to the dark side is not such a terrible thing: It's a phase all young Jedi go through. Don't you remember when we used to run around in black clothes, wearing eyeliner and collecting rare sabre crystals?'

'No, but I do remember you trying to Force Choke me on occasion.' Vrook muttered.

'Ahhh, young love.' Kreia sighed and winked at Bastila, who wondered how Kreia could make eye contact and pour tea if she was truly blind. 'Speaking of which, Bastila, didn't you use to hang around with Mission Vao?'

'Yes, during the Star Forge mission. Why do you ask?'

'She's the main act of a dance troop now: 'Han's Handmaidens.' It's just her and six identical Echani girls.' Kreia explained. 'I saw them perform on the Holonet.'

'Strumpets!' Vrook interjected, biting into some fruitcake.

'Well, I'm glad she's making an honest living...although it does seem terribly stereotypical for a Twi'lek. But who is this 'Han' creature?' Bastila wondered.

'He's the god of sensuality on Ryloth.' Mical said, passing some Tiffin to Bastila. 'He's also the patron of pilots for some reason.'

'I'm glad to see that you learned something useful from all that book learning.' Vrook said.

'Mical does know plenty of useful things,' Bastila interrupted. 'He is both a capable Jedi and an intelligence agent for the Senate.'

'And when did he fight for his freedom? I don't recall ever seeing him fight the Sith to protect his homeland?' Vrook growled.

'I do not think fighting the Sith taught you anything useful.' Kreia muttered. 'It didn't stop Revan from taking your job either.'

Before Vrook could snap back at his wife Mical stood up: 'I can see this is not going to work, both of you are incapable of putting aside your petty differences for five minutes. All my life I've been trying to live my life by the good examples you set in times of war, but I see now that I can never obtain your approval. I thought that maybe I should one more time to get along with you, if only for you to give your blessing to the woman I want to marry. Instead I've decided that the blessing of two old fools means nothing to me and in the future we should have nothing to do with each other.' Mical turned to Bastila as Vrook and Kreia sat in stunned silence: 'Do you still want to marry me after I hurled insults at former Jedi Council members?'

'To be honest Mical...I was having second thoughts even before this meeting. Seeing your family behave this way just makes me remember what the war was like. I think perhaps we need some time apart.' Bastila met Mical's eyes hesitantly, then looked away.

'No little Sithspawn breaks my son's heart!' Vrook growled suddenly and went for his lightsabre. He kicked over the table, teacups and cake flying everywhere in disarray.

'No! Father, leave her alone!' Mical yelled.

'You can't even fight your own battles, boy!' Vrook yelled, advancing on Bastila with his blade held high. 'I suspect this woman is really Revan's apprentice, sent to destroy our family, by the Sith Lord himself!'

'Oh for force's sake, this is ridiculous!' Kreia snapped and drew her own blade. She positioned herself between Vrook and Bastila, her entire form trembling with suppressed rage.

'Out of my way, woman!' Vrook said. 'Your beloved apprentice is determined to destroy us through this harlot. If you defend her, you side with the Sith.'

'Vrook, this battle is all in your mind!' Kreia said. 'The Sith barely exist anymore. Revan has been redeemed for a very long time. The war's over, you can come home.'

'You're in league with them aren't you? Stands to reason, you created the monster in the first place!' He slashed wildly at his wife, who blocked his blows with ease.

'Mical, you and Bastila had best get out of here. It would appear your father has finally lost his wits.' Kreia said. 'I can handle him.'

'But mother-'

'Just do as I say! Your father's been unwell for a very long time, this was inevitable.'

The two Jedi Masters began to fight fiercely as the blossom rained down around them. Their long years of training and service helped them keep their footing among the grass and squashed shortcake littering the floor, but it quickly became clear that Vrook was the faster of the two. Kreia may not have been his match for speed, but she was not psychotic with rage either.

Mical never saw either of his parents alive again.

The sun was high overhead and a thranta flapped lazily across the skies as Mical laid flowers on his father's grave.

'It wasn't your fault, you know? He was sick, your mother only acted to protect you.' The speaker was male, visually older than Mical, his hair starting to feather with grey. 'If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, I did not think a Jedi Master could hold such a grudge, even against me.'

Mical looked long and hard at the man: 'No, it was my father's fault, Revan. You didn't make him nurture his hatred of you until it consumed him. He may not have become a rampaging Sith, but he fell all the same.'

'How is Bastila dealing with this?'

'I think she's more tormented about it than I am. She felt like we left my mother to die, but that's what she asked us to do.'

'I never did understand Master Kreia's motivations myself.'

'I think she did feel partially responsible for Vrook's descent into madness and she wanted to deal with it personally. She probably saw losing her hand and dying of blood-loss as atonement for killing her own husband.'

'But she could have healed herself.' Revan pointed out.

'That's why I think she chose to die and why she didn't want us to intervene. I'm not sure Bastila understands that.'

'And you do?'

'No, I don't understand it, but I respect her choice and now I think perhaps marriage is not something Jedi should enter into.'

'You don't think you and Bastila would end up like your parents?' Revan asked incredulously. 'You're nothing like your father, Mical; it's one of your good points.'

'She wasn't really keen on our marriage before my parents slaughtered each other, now I'm sure she's convinced it would be folly. I thought you'd be happy that Bastila might be available again.' Mical said dryly.

'What happened between us has long since died; I have no intention of trying to revive it. Are you sure you want to live chaste?'

'Some people just shouldn't be together. My parent's marriage was a shambles; I don't think I could make Bastila happy even if she still wanted me.'

'Welcome to the Jedi bachelor club, let's go get drunk and complain about women.'

'Sounds good.'