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Chapter 1

Aedin Organa-Solo is a cocky, manipulative bitch.

Sure, she has at her disposal- a formidable arsenal boasting some of the very latest in weapons innovations (All thanks in no small part to her dad, universes greatest smuggler and all); a reputation nearly rivaling that of Boba Fett, which is pants-shittingly scary in the fact that it is completely and wholly deserved; and honed instincts rigorously cultivated through years of growing up and training surrounded by the very best that the resistance has to offer but... deep down, she knows that without a doubt, her single greatest strength is the fact that she really is a cocky, manipulative bitch.

Although, and she'd probably never admit this out loud, in her grander moments (Of which she's apparently had far too few of lately), she might be able to accurately strike the bitch part from the epithet. It is not, after all, the key component to her success (Although, there has been more than one case in which it has been rather key to her survival) and her reputation to the contrary, she actually has no real desire to be one. She doesn't mind it, of course. She's simply not married to the idea.

Then, well, then there is her cockiness. Ah yes, the blame for that particular trait of her sparkling personality can be placed squarely on her fathers shoulders.

After all, Han Solo's DNA flows through her veins. It goes without saying.

But her manipulative streak? The thing she actively seeks, actively hones? The thing that makes her such an excellent leader to those fortunate enough to be on her side and what makes her an incredible liability to those unfortunate enough to find themselves anywhere else?

That, is all Princess General Leia Organa.

Truly, if her mother hadn't been constantly berating her on her choice of profession, she might actually have been proud at how well her training (And genes) has been paying off.

But, even with the blood of the top Resistances leaders flowing through her veins, she's always just understood how people work. Or maybe it's because of said blood that she's been able to do it so easily without being 'force sensitive' like her special little twat of a brother? Honestly, it's not that difficult to study a person and get to know them. To get to understand their motivations, their fears, their insecurities and their pain. You just simply have to be quiet, patient, observant.

Something Ben Solo-Organa has never been able to manage.

Of course, the bitch part just comes into play because unlike the vast majority of people, when she needs to set those fears and insecurities and pain aside, she has no real problem doing so. Well... not anymore, anyway.

There is a line, in one of her mothers many psych evals on her, about her impressive ability to compartmentalize.

She's guessing that the psychologist hadn't been talking about her impressive ability to dress an amputation in the field in under thirty seconds.

Or perhaps she had been?

Because, honestly, when it comes right down to it, what exactly is the difference between a useless limb and a niggling feeling of self-doubt when you are under fire? Nothing, really. Except maybe the effectiveness of a good painkiller.

Not that she always feels the need to compartmentalize, of course. Sometimes it happens without her realizing it. But more often than not, the useful emotions (Well, useful to the current situation) she tends to let fly.

That, and sometimes she actually really likes it. She likes people. One doesn't get good at reading people by hating them. Except if you're like her brother, who'll just use his dark side force powers to torture what ever he needs to know out of you.

Family. Ya know?

But, there are some emotions that generally aren't helpful... and those, she can field dress faster than she can a shattered limb with white, deadly sharp bone sticking out of meat. Five seconds tops. Done. Hemorrhaging stopped before anyone even knows she'd lost a limb.

Make it ten.

The temple had taken her ten.

Still, not bad. Not exactly good, either though. Poe had seen the deluge of blood that time. Chewy had smelled it on the air, but of course hadn't seen the glistening pools himself. But, Aedin had managed to bandage it up with ease and if a shaking hand had made it take twice as long, well, it had still been bandaged up tightly and perfunctorily set aside.

Compartmentalization. What a neat and useful little personality flaw.

She stands, silent and sure and still, at the entrance to the Coryscant underworld. Her arms are folded under her chest as she leans against a wall, her eyes survey the passers-by almost clinically. Under her leather jacket her blasters are strapped almost comfortingly to her sides, with her bladed weapons fitted snuggle against her thighs.

Her team are all scattered behind her. She doesn't have to turn around to know exactly what each of them is currently occupying themselves with.

T'Rani is pacing behind her like a caged animal, sleek and wild, her movements somehow simultaneously agitated with pent-up energy and smoothly predatory with dangerous, fluid grace. She hadn't wanted to come with... but out of all of them, she perhaps understands why it is so important that she does anyway.

Garik is seated on the steps to her eight, just out of her line of sight. He had been cleaning his weapon a minute ago, the unmistakable scent of blaster oil, familiar and comforting, still lingers in the air. He hadn't questioned the order to join her, out of everyone in the group, he's the only one who's been with her since the beginning. He knows. He doesn't say. But he knows.

Dana is pacing as well, though unlike T'Rani, does so with the unhurried, deliberate gait of a woman who has resigned herself to her current circumstance and is fully occupied with her own thoughts, clinical and cool though they might be. Aedin can feel a deliberate, icy blue gaze slide speculatively over her once in a while. She used to be with the Empire until she decided that life sucked and opted to hop onto Aedin ship first chance she got and piloted it from then on out. She has the most reason to be nervous, after all, she might trust their crew, but she trusts the rest of the resistance about as far as she can throw them.

Aedin pays them little mind.

He's on his way.

She knows how he works. She understands his motivations. His fears. Insecurities. She understands his pain.

More than that, her mother has given him an order. He won't disobey.

He's on his way.