SHHH DON'T TELL ANYONE I WRITE FANFIC

Shiro knows enough about space. As a leading graduate from Galaxy Garrison and one of their best explorers, he has enough astrophysics and astronomy under his belt to have a decent discussion on relativity and correct a civilian's misinterpretation of black holes. Textbook shit. Answers on a stiffly pragmatic exam. And, so, he knows, that the illusion of a static, silent void is just that.

But. He also knows enough about space to scrub the shine from the eyes of a new recruit. He's seen the younger students with doe-eyes dedicated to science and extraterrestrial exploration - too much Star Trek, he thinks. They see the aesthetically pleasing photos of nebulas and far-off galaxies coming in on the telescopes and imagine themselves as some sort of sci-fi hero. (Some of them, he suspects, see him as a figure on the cover of a gaudy pulp novel. They are wrong. He is no hero.)

The universe is pretty, a twinkle in the eye of a seducer whose single objective is to mess with your head.

The universe is also completely and utterly terrifying.

Shiro likes to pretend that he is intimate with the universe beyond a mere understanding of physics - he, of all humans (not an accomplishment, the greatest of humankind is pathetic compared to the weakest of many other species) knows the harshness of space; the coldness that you suddenly feel with the realization that the beautiful night sky you've loved your whole life, that you've looked up to and dreamt of since you were a child, does less than love you back. It does nothing at all.

(Shiro has not decided whether he would rather the universe hate him than to be solemnly indifferent.)

The thing is that while, yes, space is a vacuum (a cold, desolate place, Shiro knows this more than his education can supplement), sound can travel through a vacuum in the form of electromagnetic vibrations that pulsate in similar wavelengths.

For all his knowledge, Shiro will never understand this as well as Pidge and Allura do. Pidge, because they're a radio astronomy nerd (although more for the fancy tech than the ~stars~), and Allura because apparently these kinds of things are foundations of Altean education.

It's Pidge who can fall asleep with headphones hooked to their long-distance radio, soothed by the sounds of space. It's the stars, Pidge explains. They find it as comforting as any nature sounds. And, technically, Pidge argues, it is nature, and Shiro can't argue with that. But, still, he rather nap to the ocean waves of earth than the electromagnetic waves of burning gas.

He's tried to appreciate it - and he does appreciate the technical aspect of it, as a member and graduate of Galaxy Garrison. But he puts on the headphones and hears static.

"Isn't it amazing?" Pidge had asked.

The thing is, Shiro has heard space. Space does not sound like pure static. Space sounds like screams turned static. Space sounds like Samuel and Matt and he doesn't have the heart to tell Pidge that.

He doesn't hear the stars. How can he?

"Yes," he had responded, because as far as he knows, Pidge still likes Star Trek.

"The equipment's here if you ever want to use it - I tried to show it off to Lance and Hunk, but they didn't appreciate how precise the calibrations need to be."

Shiro can't remember what he said next, only how the static still rang in his ears.

Pidge would have been delighted to discover that Shiro had found a use and appreciation for their radio astronomy equipment. He found himself returning to the little station that Pidge had set up next to a clear window and as distant as possible from any conflicting electromagnetic signals.

He puts on the headphones.

The static is as suffocating as it was before. (There is no air for you out there. The universe does not prioritize your survival.) He hears the entire universe screaming at him, and at the same time, he hears nothing at all. (It's chilling how these noises are coming from dead, inanimate things.)

If he listens, he can hear things. Living things. Trees rustling in the wind (specifically, maple trees, native to the planet Earth and only the planet Earth). A terrible song that he adored as a youth. The loud and cheerful mess hall of Galaxy Garrison. His family. His friends. Samuel and Matt Holt.

Shiro's heard of sea madness, how sailors long ago would go stir crazy after drifting at sea for months with every direction a blank stare of ocean blue. He doesn't believe there have been any cases of space madness (so far) and wonders if this is what it's like. He can see his legacy - Takashi "Shiro" Shirgane: First Person Driven to Insanity by Space Madness. All in all, not a particularly uninteresting way to be remembered (not that it's particularly likely that anyone on earth will know of this marvelous achievement given that he is currently on a fucking alien spaceship trying to bring down an evil galactic empire with a bunch of fucking teenagers and their fucking pet robot lions.)

He wonders how long it will take him to start hallucinating space mermaids before remembering, oh right, those actually exist, because of course they fucking do.

Matt would find it hilarious. Samuel would find it intriguing. But what they would hypothetically make of a situation doesn't matter, because they're both probably dead.

The universe hates him, but at the same time, he was spared and he can't for the life of him wrap his head around - oh, right. It's not that the universe doesn't care; it can't care.

After two semesters of classes on chaos theory, Shiro finally figures out the true meaning of random chaos in his own guilty existence. He shouldn't be here at all.

"I really shouldn't be here at all," he thinks, but he stays rooted to Pidge's spot next to the window and stares at what looks like a binary system. He doesn't tell them about his discrete visits to their radio astronomy set-up; it feels somewhat perverse. Sure, he's using the equipment as intended and as carefully as one should, but his heart's not in it. It feels like a betrayal to Pidge, to be brooding over their family. If anyone should be more distraught, it should be Pidge; Shiro considers (considered, past tense, they are most likely dead) himself friends with Samuel and Matthew, even beyond amiable colleagues, but he never knew them as family, not like Pidge.

(It bothers him a bit that Pidge doesn't seem to be grieving as hard as he expected. He makes a note to try to talk to them in the future - no, that wouldn't work. He's not sure he could do something like that - he can't - )

Shiro takes the headphones off once the binary system is a speck in the distance. The twin suns dance together until they fuse as one. It should be beautiful - poetic, even. There's gotta be a metaphor or allegory in there, somewhere, because that's what pretty space shit is there for. It should mean something, but for the life of him, Shiro can't fucking figure what.

There was no personal memorabilia in Professor Leia Organa’s office.

It was came across as surprising to the ignorant – there were cluttered files and paper and colored pens (especially the nice ones one sees at the dentist’s office), and the general air and framed diplomas that made anyone automatically sit straighter and hope that back-to-school night went well, even though there’s no back-to-school night at university. Maybe on the second visit, when one would attempt to “figure out” the teacher before she could yell at you, would the lack of personal items become more noticeable.

There were no framed photos of loved ones next to the computer monitor, no brightly colored, kitschy toys to stare at on the desk, or anything, really, that indicated interests or even a life outside of academia.

Older alumni of Coruscant University could remember a time there was an old Polaroid of two men and a younger Professor Organa carefully placed away from the doorway and a crude stick figure sketch in crayon of two people labeled “mommy and me” loving taped next to the calendar.

Professor Organa would never deny such objects once had a home in her workplace. Well, no one had ever worked up the courage to actually ask her about her past, but a quick Google search betrayed more intimate and personal details than any conversation would.

There was a short, pragmatically-written biography on the teacher’s page for Coruscant University. There was a LinkedIn account with an impressive résumé. But there was also a Wikipedia page which, if any curious student were to click, divulged secrets. And if one were to venture into the second page of search results (how daring!), one would see old article titles with keywords such as ‘crime’, ‘murder’, and ‘Anakin Skywalker’.

Many were quite old, archived articles dating from the eighties. Others were interest pieces written by folk with an obvious fascination for older mysteries. Several times her name popped up in conspiracy forum boards. There was much talk of her life in certain circles, the fact and the fiction constantly bleeding into each other, shading any credibility in any mention of her past.

What was known as fact, though, was that Leia Organa had been born Leia Skywalker, although that was as close as she got with her birth father. She had a twin brother, a former professor at the university, and a husband with a shady past. Some of the articles dubbed her Leia Solo or Leia Organa-Solo, foregoing the fact that she never took her husband’s name in any form.

She also appeared to have had a son who attended Coruscant University for a few semesters before dropping out. His trail ran cold soon after, as recent search results for “Ben Organa-Solo” quickly flatlined.

In fact, her students had discovered, it was quite difficult to find any information pertaining to her family from the past few years. Her husband had faded into obscurity and no one was quite sure what had happened to him or what exactly had transpired between he and Leia. Her brother seemed to have become a recluse. Her son, dropped from the face of the earth. Everyone else was dead, or as good as it, their personalities slashed and grayed by existence.

But yet, Leia Organa remained. It’s not that she aged badly, or that she aged particularly well - she had just simply aged. The world kept on turning. She taught classes, speaking and blinking and walking, a physical hologram. She bought groceries, paid her taxes, and lived in an empty house as if her mere existence were not a sad reminder of another time - a relic of the past in a new age that was bursting at the seams with all the troubles that had existed for the entire history of humanity.

.

“Coruscant?” Luke had asked carefully.

Rey Skywalker shifted in her seat and nodded, quite aware of the connotations. “I was accepted and – and most colleges don’t have such a good astrophysics program, and –”

Luke chuckled lightly as he set the acceptance letter on the kitchen table and waved off her chatter with reassurance. “No need for excuses – you’re absolutely free to attend whatever school you choose. I’m just making sure you’re not attending Coruscant just to mess with me.”

“Oh! Oh, no.” Rey looked at the tiled floor beneath her. She would never do something for the sake of spiting Luke. She was far too grateful for that. “I just – I guess I just like it for the same reasons you did, you know?” She smiled. “Like father, like daughter.”

The warm smile never faded from Luke’s grayed face. “Well, I guess I’ll have to call Leia eventually.”

“Leia?” It took a second for Rey to realize he’s talking about his estranged twin sister – Luke’s family never came up often enough to leave an imprint in Rey’s memory.

He nodded. “Yeah, she’s a professor there – political science, though, so I don’t think you’d share any classes.”

Outwardly, Rey felt the pressure of a generational heritage and a little remorse for the fact that maybe this was a legacy best to stay buried. But there was an idea cupping the back of her mind, a spark of curiosity stirring at the thought of the city in California.

Luke left with his cellphone and stepped out to the dusty back porch with a slight look of nervousness, leaving Rey and her beating heart at the kitchen table.

.

Leia Organa sat her dining room table, one leg drawn over the other, a single elbow resting on the edge of the polished wood. One hand was placed brushing against a raised chin, the other with a lolled wrist and encasing a telephone. A robe draped its hems on the floor, parted to reveal pale skin. Her hair was tied high in a crown on top of a well-poised head.

Her nature dictated she pose like a princess. Thirty years ago, she would have been called royalty.

She had hung up on a brother lost to her for over a decade to discover that he had gone through a midlife crisis and adopted some random girl. It was not the girl that bothered her - Luke was probably a better parent than she ever had been to her own son - it was the fact that he seemed so intent on keeping his life sheltered away in Arizona.

There had been no specific time when she realized that her brother had condemned their relationship to estrangement. For a time in their adult lives, Leia and Luke had enjoyed the role of acting as loving siblings, supporting and relying on each other through the ridiculous nature of the hardships forced upon them. Then a decade or so later, it occurred to Leia that she could not rely on her brother at all, or at least, had not been able to in the past few years.

It was time to change that.

“Hello? Leia?”

“You and Rey can come over for dinner. How does the first Saturday of September sound?”

“Oh, um, yeah! Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks, Leia.”

“I can even try to invite Han and Ben.” She paused. “Though I can’t promise they’ll show.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, ever since - ”

“Luke, it’s been too long since we’ve all been together as a family…” She caught a wisp of emotion in her voice and wondered why she insisted on keeping the impenetrable professor persona up in the comfort of her own home.

Her brother laughed nervously over the static of the telephone - a laugh she could only picture as belonging to an idealistic, golden-haired boy instead of stoic chuckle of a graying man. “I hope you don’t mind setting a few extra plates this year.”

“Oh, it’s not Rey,” Leia reassured. “Don’t you ever let that dear girl think she’ll ever be a burden to this family.”

“I think you two will get along just fine. Rey can be a bit serious, but I have no doubt she’ll warm up to you in no time.”

Leia hummed in approval. She had a niece! One that hopefully would not drop out of college and join a corrupt tech company on the other side of the country just to spite her.

“Now, Luke,” she began, her thought process reflected in her worries. “Remember that we can’t pressure this girl too much. A lot has happened to this family, a lot that…” She hesitated. “A lot of things that are our fault and a lot of things that aren’t. I don’t want her to think she has anything to live up to.”

“Ah.”

She paused to let her brother continue - but silence stood stoically on the other side of the telephone. Eventually, she relented, “That’s not a mistake we want to make again.”

“We?” Luke chuckled.

“You, me, Han, and Anakin fucking Skywalker. And probably a ton of other people.” She spat the name of her father in bitter haste, as if she wished to vomit it as quickly as possible. Although Leia did not mind the extra two syllables of an explicative to spite her dead father’s spirit. She wasn’t quite sure if she believed in an afterlife, but she knew that Anakin Skywalker did not deserve to rest in peace. This was a sentiment that, to her confusion, her twin brother did not share. She could almost hear him rolling his eyes at her pettiness, to which she mentally dared him to challenge her.

But Luke remained civil and turned the conversation back to his adopted daughter, a fact that infuriated Leia. He had always had a better reign on his temper.

“I can assure you that Rey is quite the independent young lady. I’m very proud of her.”

Leia almost shuddered. If only she felt that way about her own son.

“I can’t wait to meet her, Luke,” she said. Sincerely. Earnestly. Because despite her personal disputes with her son, she held no resentment towards Rey. If anything, it warmed her weary heart to know that her brother had found a purpose in raising his adopted daughter. This girl, although she was a Skywalker in name, did not carry poison in her blood.

Rey Skywalker was proof that although their family was ridiculously dysfunctional, they might not be so damned as it seemed.

Then there was another part of her that wanted to scream at Luke for dragging an unrelated child into their personal mess.

“It’ll be good for her to know someone in Coruscant.”

“Hm. You would know how terrifying it can be for someone who’s only known small towns and sand for their entire life.”

“Well, it’s not like I stayed at Uni for very long, anyways.”

Leia almost smiled at the the reference to a decades-old incident. Almost. She didn’t feel like being nostalgic.

“And Rey spent almost fourteen years living in London - I’m not worried about her adjusting. Still, it’s nice to known she’ll have her crazy aunt nearby.”

“Crazy? Now why don’t we let Rey decide that for herself?”

It was amazing how little siblings changed. Even after years of no contact, brother and sister could still throw light-hearted jabs at each other like it was thirty years ago.

But catching up on lost decades could wait for that fated September dinner. Leia bid Luke farewell and hung up the phone on the longest conversation they’d had in a long time.

A niece!

Her brother, a father!

There was a part of her that wanted to scream at Luke for dragging an unrelated child into the mess that was their family. Skywalkers did not have a good track record for raising children. She had long learned that children were not to be used as means to a selfish goal - redemption, atonement, or even hope. No one should carry that kind of baggage, much less a young child.