Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.

Notes: This was meant to be a sequel of sorts to my story Changing History, a story I intend to add an epilogue to within the next week or two.

It was complicated.

Things in the world were so right, so wrong, so backwards and troubling, so ironic that complications didn't even begin to scratch the surface of her current situation.

The lightsaber felt cool in her hands, but the constant humming in the back of her head remained her companion. She wanted to feel the vibrations in her hand as much as the lightsaber did. She needed a release for her anger.

She almost didn't feel him, but his presence always brought the warmth and brightness of the Tatooine suns. She hated that warmth, the feeling of burning every time he came near her. He brought hope and love and everything she had once yearned to be when she was a little girl, but had since given up on. Hope was for fools who had no power over her.

His lightsaber sang behind her, the dark bluish-green standing out in the world of orange and purple. He clashed with her world, only because he had to with her darkness and his light.

Drip.

Drop.

Blood splattered off the handle of her weapon, running in a red stream to mingle with the outpouring of color underneath the giant mushrooms. Mushrooms feed on dead things, parasites to the dead things, to continue the endless cycle of life and death.

Just like her.

She feeds on dead as he feeds on life, and he wants her life, her memories, to return to him. The red pours out of lightsaber, burning the old blood there and turning dark red to brown. The rose-colored essence dies as the life itself dies, and she turns to face him.

They stare at each other, brown eyes clashing with blue, and she wants to throw up at the sickeningly sweetness their contrast makes. In another world, in another reality, they might have loved each other despite the differences.

But the Force demands balance, and it doesn't care what kind of complications it takes to achieve such balance.

"I can't forgive you," the breath rushes out of him with barely a twitch of his lips.

"Good," she whispers back.

She flies across the short distance between them, red meeting bluish-green.

"I can't forgive you either, brother," Leia says.

Luke feels the anger fill him, anger for his friends, his family, and for the sister who never got the chance to learn love.

Leia smirks.

Balance indeed.