She had run out of tests and she could no longer doubt that the boy standing in front of her was Kon, but Allana found that she couldn’t quite believe it either, not in any concrete way. She’d spent the days after his death distracting herself, first with capturing and subduing the alternative Jacen and then with trying to stay alive once she’d been thrust into the middle of her alternate’s life. The distractions had built up a chain of “things that need to be dealt with” that came before processing grief, and that was how she’d managed to stay calm. That was how she’d managed to look over papers, preside over court, to set about trying to fix the mess her alternate had made of an empty life. It had been therapeutic to be able to solve someone else’s problems, if slightly embarrassing in that her solution had been to contact that reality’s version of Leia Organa Solo (Jaina wouldn’t even answer her attempts, and even Allana knew enough to stop before it looked like the head of the Hapes Consortium was begging for a meeting with the Empress, to realize the political repercussions that could have), convince her of what had happened, and tell her not to give up on her granddaughter. It had been a shock to learn that this version of her grandfather had died years ago, that without a granddaughter to be responsible for and take under his wing he’d let the bitterness about the death of his sons make him careless, but it had let her extend the offer to her grandmother, “Come to Hapes. I’ll issue a proclamation naming you liaison to the Jedi, make it sound like a way to spy on them so the Hapans accept it. She won’t be able to take it back once it’s been acknowledged publically. You can help her, you helped me.”
Without that distraction, sad as it had been in some ways, she wouldn’t have made it through that reality. She would have torn off her crown, jumped up from the throne, and raged at the impassive courtiers, demanded to know why they were just going about their business, how they could act like this was just another day when nothing, nothing could ever be the same or ordinary ever again. That would have been the first stage of her grief, but she had never made it there, had built up her walls of responsibilities and obligations, and now, with Kon in front of her and alive again, she had to process it all at once, had to deal with the pain of losing him before she could really believe that he was back. It was as if she were standing on one side of a river full of rapids, and he was on the other side, and for a moment she teetered on the edge of the crossing, just staring at him dumbly.
“You said you were going to be careful,” her voice, cracking slightly on the first syllable of the last word, no longer calm or controlled, surprised her as much as if someone else had suddenly spoken, as did her lightsaber flickering off and almost sliding from her fingers as she took a step forward, face flushed and angry. “You said to trust you and I…you kriffing” her lightsaber was back at her belt, but her right hand rose, palm flat out, and she wondered, as if she were only an observer, whether she was about to slap him.
In the next moment, however, she’d reached him and lowered her hand, the anger dropping from her features once she was close enough to touch him, and she practically threw herself into a hug instead. Right, this is the part where I make fun of him, or say that if he ever does that again I’ll kill him, she thought, but to her dismay what came out instead was a muffled sob, the first time she’d cried since feeling his death in the Force. Once they started, the tears were surprisingly hard to stop, and as unlike her as it was, for the moment all her words were swallowed up with them.