He narrowed his eyes at her now, running his free hand through loose, unruly curls to pull them from his face as he searched Mara's neutral expression looking for those clues. Use of the Force was strictly prohibited in their games, but in truth she couldn't really tell whether he did or not, her own abilities far too limited. Still, he claimed he didn't and Mara believed him- whatever else he was, he was still a man of his word.
"It defeats the object of the game." He'd maintained, when she accused him once.
"I don't believe you- the temptation's too great...and you always like to win." She'd charged.
"I didn't say I didn't want to win."
"And you never play by the rules." Mara added, remembering the countless times he had subtly adapted or worked the Emperor's direct command around his own needs, knowing that this had become a larger conversation now
"I play by my rules- you simply don't know them." He'd said, humour in his voice, purposely keeping the conversation light, as he always did with her.
"You don't have it." he repeated now. Mara lifted her eyebrows in expectant silence.
"...... One hundred." he said after a long pause, his voice issuing a hesitant question as he pushed the gently chinking pile of credits forward.
Mara's heart did a little flip at that - was he bluffing? Drawing her out? Or did he believe she was bluffing and he was trying to make her back down? He had three cards in the field, and they'd been locked in there for three rounds now... plus the table had just flipped the cards he held- had it given him a hand too?
What are you worried about, Jade- you have pure sabacc?!
"Fine." She pushed her chips forward, slapping the flat of her palm on the pulse-generator to stop it and freeze the cards at their present value. Then she reached down and turned her field-cards, a note of triumph in her voice, "Pure sabacc."
"Ah." Luke said lightly, turning the mismatched chip-cards in his hand over as he placed them down, Mara reaching for the credits, triumphant. "Array." He said simply, freezing her mid-reach.
"What!?" she reached out for his cards in the field, turning them over; the two, the three...and The Idiot face card grinned back at her. "Son of a...you've had those in there for ages- why didn't you play them?"
"I was waiting for you to put some serious currency down - I don't get an Array very often; I have to make the most of it." he said, amusement breaking through that detached calm- probably at the look on her face, Mara mused.
She slammed down the cards, as if it would make any difference. "You are so lucky at cards..."
"I like to think there's a little skill involved." he said, that perfect neutral façade slipping just a little, giving her a glimpse of Luke Skywalker behind the stony face of Palpatine's precious Sith. "You know what they say- lucky at cards..." he shrugged lightly, stepping up from the table without bothering to take the credits scattered there, knowing they wouldn't play again tonight.
Walking toward the side table where he'd left his drink he paused with his back to Mara, looking out into the glowing void of hyperspace. Probably because he'd realised that he'd let his guard drop just a little, Mara realised, and was uncomfortable with it, even in front of her. Though she didn't know why; she knew him better than anyone else- had seen him in pieces in the Palace cells when Palpatine's wrath was on him. She never judged him; she'd learned that from him-
Palpatine, her master as well as his- Palpatine always judged, and never kindly.
She glanced up at him, taking in the sight as she always did. He was slim and strong and... and she should stop that thought right there. Instead she spoke out, knowing the rest of the rhyme; "Unlucky in love."
"No- very rich." he said easily, turning those sharp sky-blue eyes toward her.
She took her leave around an hour later, Skywalker claiming tiredness, though Mara knew he was nothing of the sort. She would get a call in an hour or so from whoever was on watch to let her know that The Commander had returned to the Bridge and was working in his ready-room, as he often did well into the early hours of the morning. Or perhaps that he was in one of the exercise bays with his lightsaber, or that he had entered the 701st's restricted hold, or summoned the unit commander's to his quarters.
Whatever; he wouldn't sleep, she knew that. She could see that in his eyes, no matter how many times he beat her at sabacc.
He hadn't so much quietened down over the past few years as become more circumspect, more cautious in what he allowed to show and before whom, as Palpatine invested ever more time year on year in creating his perfect advocate. Emotions were something to be exploited in his Master's eyes, as well as in the treacherous Court which Luke was so often forced to endure on Coruscant.
Oftentimes he was calm, confident and centred, the Emperor's Dark Jedi, absolutely in command of himself and everything about him. Yet other times, he seemed so lost, so discontent and deranged as to crumple her heart in empathy, leaving her with the unsettling impression of a wild animal caged, pacing the same short path over and over in the solitary dead of nigh like a wolf howling at the moon, desperately trying to outpace the bars which caged it, knowing it never could. But she knew with absolute certainty that if she tried to reach out to offer it comfort in these bleak times it would lash out at her as surely as if she were its captor, so blinded by frustration did it become.
Which was real and which was the front? Both and neither, as she had often told the Emperor. The changes were mercurial, and Skywalker tolerated no pity or concern- nor for that matter did the Emperor.
Did she feel any guilt at making her reports? No- she'd never hidden her reason for being here, and eyes and ears were everywhere, Skywalker knew that. Though Mara knew she was among them, she at least prided herself on holding some sense of honour and integrity. And she knew Skywalker appreciated this; that he too held to his own moral code, skewed though it was. In this they were, she supposed, kindred spirits.
Which was as close as Skywalker came to genuine friendship these days.
.
.
.
"I'm just sayin'," Han said defensively, eyes scrunched up against the bright light of hyperspace, pouring in from the viewscreen behind Leia's office desk and creating a diffuse halo affect about her, "What about the Death Star?"
Leia frowned from her cluttered desk, "Han..."
"What the hell was going on there, huh?" he interrupted, affecting his best offended, unbelieving tone, as if he felt she was surely arguing just for the sake of it, because he was patently right.
"Please-" Leia dismissed, frustration in her voice, as much at herself for being taken in so easily at the time as at Han for still holding faith now, when it was all so obviously a lie. "They needed information; a location. He broke me out so that I would lead him back to..."
"No, I'm talking about Yavin- when he blew that thing to dust. What was that about?" he was tired and cranky; everybody was.
Blue Group had made the fourteen-day journey flying escort to supply frigates a total of nine consecutive times now, and it was beginning to wear pretty thin for Han. Much like the seat of his flight suit from countless hours spent hanging around in lightspeed in an assortment of cold, bare-board supply frigates waiting for that burst of adrenaline as the Blues launched as they exited lightspeed, waiting to see if the Empire had caught up with them yet.