Star Wars is the property of George Lucas and LFL. No profits were made and no disrespect is intended with this fic.

The Consequences of Alderaan
Part Three
by Paula

Asylane had done absolutely nothing to improve her appearance. She stalked into Downtime with a scowl that Emperor Palpatine would have been proud of. She sat down at the bar and snapped at the bartender - Dack tonight - to get his attention.

"Whisky," she growled at the poor young pilot. "The strongest you have."

Dack fetched it with a terrified expression on his face. "Here you go, Asylane," he said with squeak. "Itís Whyrenís Extra."

She grunted her approval and downed the shot in one gulp. "More."

"I see they forced you here, too," Tycho announced with a plop down beside her. He gestured at Dack to make the whisky a double.

"They ganged up, then," Asylane said glumly. "And knowing Leia, thereís probably a spy around here somewhere to make sure that we talk it out."

Dack placed their drinks in front of them and hightailed it away very quickly.

Tycho grunted his amusement and took a sip out of his shot. He made a face. "My brother used to drink this stuff. He force-fed it to me when I was ten and Iíve never had a taste for it as a result."

Asylane ran her fingers through her hair. "Then whyíd you ask for it?"

"I thought it was the regular stuff."

"Your mistake," she muttered and downed another shot. She choked as it made its fiery progress down her throat. "I always liked wine best."

Tycho nodded. "I know what you mean. There were vinyards near my summer home outside of Alderaa and - " he cut himself off and looked down at the countertop.

Suddenly, Asylane understood why she was here. She knew which winery he was talking about. She hadnít come here to prove Leia wrong. She had come here because she was so very lonely - starved for conversation. And Tycho would understand. She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled - a sad one, thatís all she really knew how to do, these days - but a smile nonetheless. "I have some in my room," she said softly.

He looked up at her, blue eyes boiling with emotion. He grinned at her. "Do you really?"

"A little slice of heaven in my cupboard."

He drained his whisky with a cough. "Iíve wanted to get hold of that stuff for a long time." He launched himself off of his stool. "Do you have enough for a glass?"

She shrugged. "If you want."

"Iíd love to."

Asylaneís room was tiny and contained nothing more than a bed, two chairs and desk. Every available bit of wall space was taken up by the few pieces of furniture in the place. Two closed doors took up one wall - presumably the Ďfresher station and the closet. Two shelves and two cabinets were positioned over her bed and her desk respectively. Two tunics were crumpled on the floor.

Asylane made no move to gather them up, but left them instead in a wad on the floor - no wonder her clothing was always disheveled. Actually, she stepped right over them without looking down. Tycho doubted that she had even noticed that they were there. The comforter was pulled up on the bed rather haphazardly and one of the cabinet doors stood open. The place seemed even smaller because of the mess. It kind of reminded Tycho of his sister Miaís room on Alderaan. Mia had insisted on sleeping in a converted closet because she thought it was more rustic.

"This looks like Miaís room," Tycho announced before he could catch himself.

Asylane turned and looked at him, her dark eyes puzzled. "Whoís Mia?"

"Sheís - she was - my younger sister." Tycho felt a slight stab of pain shoot through his chest at the memory of his laughing sister.

Asylane smiled slightly at him. "Messy, too? I used to care, but I shared a room with my younger sister, Anda, and she was always a nightmare. Eventually I just gave up." She gestured at one of the chairs. "Have a seat."

Tycho sat and watched her. She went to the open cupboard and closed it before opening the other one. She stretched her frame up and reached into the dark recesses of the cabinet. He was surprised to find himself a little turned-on by the sight of her breasts straining against the thick quilted material of her tunic. "Aha," she breathed and pulled a partially empty bottle of wine out. "You want to just drink out of the bottle, or do you want glasses?"

"Bottle. This would have driven Nyiestra - my fiancee - crazy. She was very proper."

Asylane shook her head. "Tell me about it. My mother flipped once when he caught me drinking out of the nerf-milk carton. I was finishing it off - not like I was going to put it back or anything." She tossed herself in the other chair and sat up straight. "That is not ladylike, Asylane Maggaret," she mimicked.

Tycho laughed as she took a swig and passed him the bottle. "Sounds like my mother." He drank greedily, relishing the sweet taste on his lips. Alderaanian wine was still the best. "I remember when I was eight, father had a rival business partner over to the house for dinner. My mother was in a tizzy because she wanted everything to be just right. Thatís when my oldest brother decided that he was going to play a prank. He put bacta cream into the amaeilor soup. Dinner didnít go over too well, though it was a blast to see my fatherís very proper business acquaintances trying their damndest to not make faces."

Asylane smiled. "Ah, the pranks of childhood." Tears welled up in her eyes.

Tycho looked at her over the bottle of wine Her eyes were bright with tears. Tears that wouldnít fall. She let out a bitter laugh.

"I never cried," she whispered. "I came so close, but I never did."

Tycho picked up his bottle and passed it to her. He looked back at her face. "Sometimes I can see Nyiestra," he said softly, "and then I come close. The funny thing is, is that I donít want to cry because sheís dead."

"What do you want to cry for?" Her voice was soft. She wasnít looking at him now, just staring at the amber liquid in the green bottle. He could see the memories swirling in her head. She gulped and passed it to him.

He sighed and took a sip of the drink. Swallowing, he leaned back in his chair and regarded her, his partner in pain. "Because I know I should."

She looked up at him and laughed, brushing her short black hair behind her ear. When she laughed, as bitter sounding as it was, her face lit up. Tycho could see how stunning she had been before the tragedy. Her jaw was smooth and unblemished. He found himself focusing on it.

"Itís funny," she mused, "I miss them so much, yetÖ" she trailed off. Tycho looked up. She was staring at the bottle in his hand.

"Asylane," he called her.

Her wide gray eyes looked up at him. A single solitary tear made its way down her cheek. And then she smiled at him - a genuine, very sad smile. Her face was transformed. She let out a choked sob and wiped at the tear making itís way down the smooth contours of her face. "Thank you," she whispered.

Tycho put the bottle on the desk beside him and leaned forward in his flight-seat. He touched her chin with his finger. Another tear made its way along her cheek. It landed on Tychoís hand; another followed and he let his thumb brush over it. She let out a real laugh. "Sith, Iím so ugly when I cry. My face gets all red and splotchy."

Tycho let his thumb caress her cheek again. "No," he whispered, leaning closer into her, "youíre beautiful."

He felt her hand rise up from her lap. He closed his eyes as her fingers ran up the side of his arm. He could feel her touch through his jumper. She leaned her cheek into the palm of his hand and rubbed her face against him. He hadnít realized that he was so starved for human contact - that he was literally dying with hunger for it.

Her hand moved to his face and cupped his cheek. Tycho leaned into her touch. He opened his eyes again and looked into her wide eyes. They were wet as tears made their way down her face, catching themselves on Tychoís hand. She looked so very small in the palm of his hand.

Suddenly, for the first time since Alderaan had been destroyed, he forgot. Nothing mattered outside of her. He let his hand move to her hair. He tangled his fingers into the dark strands, soft like silk. Her other hand moved up and took his fingers in hers.

He moved closer to her, their lips nearly touching. Her breath was sweet on his face with the wine she had been drinking, bitter with the whisky from before. Yet she didnít seem drunk. He squeezed her hand, twined with his. She smiled at him and another perfectly formed drop of water made itís way down her cheek. Tycho closed his eyes and leaned in further.

The first touch of her lips were soft, and then she made a little moan and leaned in, pressing more firmly. She shifted the hand that caressed his cheek so that it tangled in his blond hair. She ran her thin fingers through it. Nyiestra used to do that.

Tycho pulled back from her with a start. NyiestraÖ He let go of Asylaneís hand and cringed away from her slender frame. Her brown eyes, made darker with tears and unfulfilled desire, stared hauntingly into his. No, she was not Nyiestra. She never would be.

But that raised another question: Did he want her to be? Tycho closed his eyes and tried to calm his hurried breathing. He could feel the strain of his erection against his flightsuit. Visions of his dead fiancee came unbidden into his mind - ice beauty from aristocratic stock. Sex had been a routine with her; he suspected that she enjoyed it, but she had always submitted to it like it was his need being assuaged, not hers. He opened his eyes again. Asylane was staring at him, her breathing uneven; tear-paths had made streaks down her cheeks.

He smiled and stood. Her eyes followed his movements. He reached down and took one of the hands that had found their way into her lap. "Iím sorry," he said softly.

She stood up and clasped his fingers in hers. She was so small she had to cock her head to look into his eyes. She stood up on her tiptoes so that they were equal height. "Yes," she whispered. Tycho felt his pulse quicken and the bulge in his nether region grew harder.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his again. He let his mouth move against hers, before he pressed tentatively against her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth to his advance and twined the fingers of her free hand with his. Tycho was amazed at how well she seemed to fit into him.

She released her grip on his fingers and pulled back a little. "Tycho," she said softly, "donít leave me tonight."

Tycho didnít respond aloud. He pulled her slight frame into his.

Asylane felt all the tension of the last month gradually leave her body as her passion grew. She threw every bit of her being into the moment at hand, determined that it should replace all the pain.

To her surprise, it was working.

No, she didnít want to dwell on the past. The past was the past - over and done with. She had to live for the moment, and she flung herself head-on into the moment.

A song she had heard once at University sprang unbidden into her head.

We have no past, we wonít reach back,
Keep with me forward all through the night
And once we start, the meter clicks
And it goes running all through the night.

At the time, she hadnít given it much thought; just ignored it like she did most pop music. But now, this moment, lost in Tychoís mouth, his pain mixing with hers, it fit.

She wanted more. She pushed against him, feeling every bit of him pressed up against her. He moaned as she rubbed her thigh against his erection. She could feel herself get slippery with want.

He took the initiative, maneuvering her so that the back of her knees were pressed against the footboard of her cot. She sat down on the bed with a plop, failing to land as gracefully as she had intended to. He also had been unprepared for the sudden pull as the full force of her weight pressed itself against his arms. Caught off guard, he misbalanced and landed on top of her.

"Oomph," he groaned.

Asylane laughed; the first genuine laugh she had had in months. "Hell, Iím the one on the bottom."

Tycho gave a contented little chuckle. "Um Laney?" She liked the way her nickname sounded on his lips.


"My arms are falling asleep."

She giggled and shifted her weight so that he could move his arms. There was a pause. He looked down at her, his blond hair brushing her forehead and his blue eyes boring into her brown ones. She felt her breath catch. She hadnít realized how much she had craved human contact - release. He leaned down and nuzzled her nose with his. She could feel his breath sweet on her face with the wine.

She reached up and started working at the zipper on his flightsuit. He gave a little moan of pleasure and kissed her gently, shifting so that he was lying beside her, not directly on top of her. He started undoing the buttons on her tunic, brushing the soft material from her shoulders. The touch of his fingers on her skin was enough to make her shiver; for once, it wasnít the cold of Hoth.

The zipper was complicated and it took effort to get it undone. Tycho shifted, suspending his caressing of her shoulders so that she could slip the bulky material off of his shoulders. Underneath, he was wearing a long-sleeved thermal shirt. Asylane let her hands move to the seam and up over the bare planes of his chest.

He pulled away from her mouth with a contented sigh and rolled onto his back. "LoveÖ" he whispered, his eyes heavy with desire.

Asylane pulled the flightsuit down his legs and lifted the thermal shirt over his head. She could see his erection straining against the thermal leggings he wore underneath the suit. She wanted him inside her. With a sigh, she spread herself the length of his body. He reached for her. "Need," she whispered against his mouth.


"Release." He leaned in and kissed her just as the word left her mouth. She felt herself arch into the kiss, letting her tongue flick over his teeth, his tongue, his palette. He moaned against her and let his hands roam up and over her shoulders and down her sides and back.

His hands encountered the bulky material near her waistband. With barely a pause, he slid them down across her hips. She shifted so that she was pressed more firmly against him, his erection boring into that place between her legs. She rubbed herself against him again, determined to make the tension in the pit of her stomach magnify.

He groaned and his hands moved in erotic trailing paths up the sides of her arms, pausing briefly to stroke the curves of her breasts before they moved past her shoulders to tangle in her hair.

She wriggled against him, more to move her pants down her legs than for any other reason, yet the movement seemed to drive him wild. He let out a contented groan and pulled her closer to him. His tongue probed into her mouth with a ferocity that drove her mad. Across her teeth, twining with her tongue, the pressure he gave grew and ebbed as he dived deep almost as if he was trying to eat her, and then pulled back, sucking gently on her bottom lip.

Gods did she want him. She wanted the release he could give her. She could smell the sweat on him as the heat and passion continued to grow. The smell drove her wild with a pure animal instinct that only proved humans were no different than even the most simple of species.

She let her hands move up and down his chest, pausing just above the waistband of his thermals and going no further. His nipples grew hard under her hands, a sign of a need as great as hers that drove her wild. She wanted to feel the explosion that came with sex - it had been so very long, and the memory so very painful.

Pulling her mouth from his, she shifted her head and started kissing down his neck, relishing the salty taste of his sweat against her lips. Want she thought as he let out a whimper of desire as her searching mouth made its leisurely progress across the planes of his chest. Asylane paused as she reached his nipples. They stood out from his skin in aching points. She let her tongue flick across one, enjoying the feel of his fingers pressing down on her head and the hiss that emerged from his mouth. She pushed him flat on the bed with one hand, while letting her free hand meander down his stomach. She sat up and looked at him.

He looked so innocent, staring up at her, his eyes lazy with desire. His mop of dark blond hair had flopped in his eyes and Asylane shifted a hand to brush it over his forehead. His blue eyes closed - evidently the gesture brought some painful memory, yet he did not seem to dislike it. Rather the opposite, actually.

"Tycho," she said softly, stroking his forehead gently. She wanted him to say her name.

His blue eyes opened, still hazy with unfulfilled lust. "Asylane." His voice was husky. He untangled a hand from her hair and reached up to stroke her breast. She closed her eyes with the feeling that rushed through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Without another word, he pulled her down on top of him, one hand large enough to do the task. With the other, he pulled at his thermals, pulling them and undergarments down his legs and out of the way. His fingers shifted down her stomach in little whirls, eliciting little moans. She leaned and kissed him.

She realized with a start that she was still wearing underwear, though by this point, the little bit of material was so wet with want that she almost couldnít feel them. She could feel his erection pressed into her thigh. She shifted and rubbed the material against his erection, causing, much to her delight, a half-strangled cry.

"Asylane," he whispered, breathless, "you are going to cut this a little short if youíre not careful."

She leaned her forehead against his and gave a contented smile. "Youíre right. Howabout we get down to business."

He grinned. It was the first time she had ever really seen him do so. He ran his fingers down her sides, causing her to shiver with the combined force of want and anticipation. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her underpants and pulled. Asylane drew her legs up and shimmied out of them, rubbing herself against him. She shifted again, pulling one leg to the other side so that she was straddling him.

He took her hips in his hands and guided her over his lap. She lowered herself on him slowly, feeling herself filling inside. The feeling was enough to send more shivers running down her spine. She leaned down and kissed him, wrapping the fingers of his hands with hers.

The feeling of entering her was nearly enough to send Tycho over the edge. Yet, for some reason, he managed to maintain self-control. The look on her face, he somehow managed, through the haze of want, to notice, was one of pure ecstasy as she threw herself into the animal dance of human desire. If crying had released something inside of her, then the first wonderful throes of sex literally threw it. She was beautiful: the flush of passion dotting her cheeks, and her dark hair damp with exertion.

She leaned to kiss him. Tycho met her lips with his, both of them equally hungry for the other. Wanting it. Needing it. He felt her fingers twine with his as she impaled herself upon him with the first thrust. She was so tight, so wet, so ready.

He closed his eyes and gave himself into the sensation of having her on top of him. Tension mounted as he moved faster within her, harder, pushing against her, feeling her push against him.

She was not a screamer, but it didnít matter because she was so perfect. She fit so well; a welcome addition, an extension of himself. Two hearts beating as one as something so long denied came together in a dance that grew with pressure, the strain increasing with each thrust, with each meeting of their mouths. Finally, finally, as the tension grew almost too much to bear, slowly growing with need and want and more need until Tycho felt he would explode with the simple beauty of it all. All culminated with one final thrust and he tensed as pure, unadultered ecstasy flowed through every portion of his body. An explosion.

He felt her move once more against him as he came before she too went rigid, a moan escaping from her mouth as she also felt the same beautiful thing he had. She went limp, collapsing on top of him in a mass of sweaty limbs and damp hair.

And then they came, with a force with which they had never come. Tycho began to cry.

He felt Asylane pull away from him, shifting so that her body was stretched the length of his. He curled into her, tears streaming down his face without any sign of abating. She sat up and pulled the covers, which had been pushed to the bottom of the bed, up around his shoulders. He sobbed into her pillow, great wet drops of water streaming down his cheeks and collecting in her pillow - a pillow that smelled of her.

He felt the cot shift as Asylane lay back down beside him. Her breasts brushed his side as she moved closer to him so that she wouldnít fall off the narrow bed.

He felt slender fingers run through his hair. "I know," she whispered, kissing his shoulder. "We know."

He looked up at her. Tears were falling down her face as well. Tears for those who had died. Tears that had been stagnant for months. He felt a sob choke in his throat. She smiled at him. It was a smile that was, all at once, absolutely stunning, completely happy, and tragically sad.

He reached out his arms to her and she fell into them, leaning on his shoulder. Heaves shook her tiny frame - heaves of a completely different sort than before. Tycho could feel the moisture as tears fell on his shoulder, and he could see fresh lines of damp lining her dark hair, caused, inevitably, by his own.

She was the first to pull back. "But we are stronger," she said firmly, the strong tone of her voice conflicting with the teartracks on her cheeks.

He reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "To love and have lost is better than not to have loved at all." The poem was an old one, passed down through the generations, though the author of it was long dead and forgotten. Tycho remembered having to memorize the whole thing back when he was still in school, yet that line was the only one that had stayed with him.

"Alderaan, land of the poets," she laughed softly. She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest. "We could go for another one: ĎBecause a taste of honeyís worse than none at all.í"

He laughed and stroked the dark hair from her face. "I think that one gives an opposite meaning to the whole thing."

She reached up and wiped a tear from his chin, letting her finger linger a little longer than necessary. "They will pay," she said simply.

Tycho nodded. He thought back to Ovi, a brilliant potential wasted by a blaster bolt. He thought of his sister and of the nieces and nephews he would never have. He thought of his mother and his father, both so proud, yet so ignorant. He thought of Nyiestra and her young life cut short, never having been given the chance to live. He thought of the Princess, even now putting in tireless hours to make Alderaanís destruction mean something. He thought of Wedge, Luke, Wes, Hobbie - pissed off, all of them. He thought of himself and of the difference he wanted to make. He thought of the small woman in his arms, a rage boiling in her that matched his own - a hurt as well. His entire life passed before his eyes, as well as his entire future. He was not useless anymore.

He had never felt more thankful to any single person than he did to Luke at that very moment. He knew that though he had known a terrible gnawing pain, he would survive it, just like Asylane would survive it, just as a thousand other survivors of a great civilization would survive it.

"Yes they will pay," he said finally, stroking Asylaneís naked arm. "The consequences of Alderaan."


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