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The sparring match started off well enough; Mara was proud of herself for holding her own against Skywalker despite her lack of practice. She hadn't been back to the fledgling Jedi Academy on Yavin IV since her precipitous departure a few months earlier, and had been too busy whipping the Smuggler's Alliance into shape to duel with lightsabers much.
Then Skywalker collapsed to his knees, his lightsaber rolling away with a clatter, and it wasn't because her counterattack struck home. He doubled over on his knees, wracked by hacking coughs and spitting up chunks of sickly red and white masses across the limestone tiles.
"Skywalker, are those... flowers?" Mara said slowly, though that couldn't be right, and anyway, he was too busy convulsing to pay attention to her.
She was wrong on both counts. "It's nothing," he said shakily when the fit had subsided at last, wiping his mouth with a rusty handkerchief that meant this wasn't the first time and dislodging a stray petal clinging to his cheek. "Just allergies."
How dense did he think she was? "Skywalker, we both know that allergies do not involve coughing up this much blood. Or any blood at all."
"Ughhh--" Any further protests were lost in yet another coughing fit.
Mara sheathed her lightsaber and pushed through one of bloodied lumps on the stones with her boot. The movement exposed the network of lacy root strands and the barest hint of bulbs laced through the mass of phlegm and what hopefully wasn't a chunk of lung tissue. Tiny white flowers--six triangular petals set in the shapes of stars--peaked out here and there. The flowers were coated in some sort of wax that repelled the blood, which was somehow more unnerving than their bizarre origins.
Mara had seen enough. "Come on," she said, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Let's get you to Cilghal."
She was prepared to haul him out bodily if necessary, but to her surprise, he let her raise him up without further protest, clinging to her arm for support while he struggled for breath. He didn't stop coughing, but he did thoughtfully turn his head to to one side as they went to avoid staining her clothes, spreading a trail of blood and eerily unstained blooms in their wake.
***
"Hanahaki disease," Cilghal said without hesitation on her arrival into the academy's makeshift medbay.
"Hana-what?" Mara said, settling beside Skywalker's cot with poor grace.
"Hanahaki," the Mon Cal repeated patiently, her webbed fingers folded together across her chest. "It's a well-documented phenomenon in which the victim is infested with the spores of a botanical parasitoid, which slowly develop to maturity in the lungs over a period of months, if not years. It's usually only identified at the point where the lungs are so full of foreign material the host starts coughing them up in a vain attempt to rid themselves of it, thus propagating the parasitoid."
Mara drew back, mindful of how close her unprotected face had been those flowers in the courtyard. "So it's contagious?"
"Yes, although not directly at the moment. You would have to eat it, or consume it indirectly through mouth-to-mouth transmission, as this particular form is asexual--the spores responsible for infection come later in the cycle. Of course, it's completely treatable at any stage once identified."
Mara allowed herself to relax a little, though she was still going to scan herself for stowaways once she was back on the Fire just to be sure.
"I thought--hanahaki disease was caused by unrequited love," Skywalker gasped from the bed.
"It's true that the vomiting of the ramets is usually triggered by emotional upheaval," Cilghal said before Mara could open her mouth to respond. "But in this case, I think the stress of the responsibilities of your position here at the academy would be more than enough in this context."
"Oh," he said faintly, deflating back into the nest of pillows. "Where did I get it, then?"
"Hard to say," Cilghal said. "This particular species doesn't show up on any scans, which means that it's likely one unique to Yavin. If that's the case, botanists and epidemiologists are going to have a field day once word gets out. It might take a little longer to find the right treatment for it, though."
"I've been using the Force to try and get rid of it, with no luck," Skywalker admitted. "I was able to expel some nasty parasites I picked up at Bakura that way, but it doesn't seem to work. No matter what I do, it just keeps re-spawning and I can barely heal my lungs fast enough to keep up."
"I wondered about that," Cilghal said. "Based on the size and maturity of the ramets, it's impressive you've been able to function for this long. I'll give you a few minutes to get settled, and we'll try a different approach--the technique I used on Mon Mothma's poisoning might work well here. It's worthy trying, anyway."
With a bow to Skywalker and a nod to Mara, she turned and left the room, leaving the two of them awkwardly staring at each other.
"All right, now that you're not actively dying, my work here is done," Mara said, rising to her feet. "See you around, Skywalker. Good luck."
"Mara. Thank you," he said. "I... owe you for this."
"Ha, ha," Mara said. "Seems to be an ongoing theme in our relationship. Did you seriously believe this was caused by unrequited love and that's why you didn't tell anyone about this?"
"Mara, please..." he said, his face reddening as he stared glumly down into his lap. "It was in all the holos I watched growing up!"
"And you believed that bantha shit?" Mara eyed him speculatively. "You got a crush or something, Skywalker? Anyone I know?"
The blush deepened. "Yes, but--"
Oh. Oh. Oh. Realization dawned at last--slow, inevitable, and utterly terrifying in all its implications. He was--Force help them both--completely serious.
"You--like--me..?"
He nodded earnestly. "Please don't laugh."
Even so, she couldn't help a scoff--there was no other way to process a confession of this magnitude. "Why me? I'm not even a Jedi, we've barely spent any time together since the Thrawn campaign, I tried to kill you on more than one occasion--"
Skywalker coughed into his handkerchief. Mara handed him the bucket on the beside table and braced herself for another onslaught of plants, but it passed quickly.
"This was exactly why I wasn't going to mention it," he said when it was over, clearing his throat. I know you're not interested in me. I never wanted to put you on the spot or make you feel uncomfortable, or--"
"Wait, wait, wait," Mara said before she could stop herself. "Who said I wasn't interested?"
Now it was his turn to stare at her goggle-eyed. "You...are?"
"Skywalker, I have been trying to get your attention for months!" Mara shouted, carried away by the sudden upswelling of long-suppressed frustration. "The whole reason I came to Yavin in the first place was because you invited me and I thought--only for you to be so preoccupied with Kyp Durron and the others that you barely paid any attention to me! Why do you think I left?!"
"...Oh."
Oh was right. Mara shook her head and sighed. "Maybe I should have Cilghal examine my head while she's at it."
"No. No, you're right, it's my fault; I just assumed--but then all the coughing started, and I thought--" He laughed ruefully. "I should have just talked to you in the first place."
Mara was in no mood to go easy on him. "Yes, you should have. Then we wouldn't be having this conversation when you're spewing your guts into a bucket."
"Believe me, I'm not enjoying any of this. These things hurt coming up." Skywalker's lips curled in a roguish smile. "If I wasn't contagious, I'd kiss you."
"You'll have to make up for it some other time," Mara said, reaching over to ruffle his hair affectionately. Despite the considerable temptation, there was no way she was going to risk an infection herself; she liked her lungs just as they were, thank you very much. "Once Cilghal gets you back to normal, we are going to have a lot to catch up on--"