Aftermath
A/N: Set in my favourite time period – post ANH-pre ESB. Many people have built stories around parties at the Rebel base, and most have done it better than me but since I always love them I decided to give it a try. Thanks to all those who inspired me!
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When Princess Leia Organa enters the room, the party is in full swing. The ceremony room has been transformed. Instead of lines of soldiers, row upon row of stiff bodies at attention, there are tables and chairs, bodies relaxed and leaning, some quietly talking, others in groups shouting excitedly about the victory. Masses of alcohol has appeared, seemly out of nowhere, and some of the pilots have joined together to create a make-shift band. She spies Luke, now surrounded by other pilots. By his hand gestures, he is obviously giving his account of the space battle that happened a mere day ago. He's a hero now. She smiles to herself, thinking of the farm boy that rushed into her cell wearing a too-big stormtrooper uniform, intent on saving her. And he did. With a little help from a smuggler, a Wookiee and General Kenobi.
Kenobi was lost to them now, just like the many pilots that lost their lives trying to destroy the Death Star. And… She shakes her head. Not going to think about it, can't think about it now. Now she has to be a leader, she has to show strength. She holds her head up a little higher but there's a tremble in her hands she can't quite hide.
She scans the room, sees the higher-ups at a table, smiling but reserved. That's where she should head, she knows, she's supposed to be one of them, putting on a good show in the name of morale. But she can't quite bring herself to sit at that table. There will be concern, and perhaps even a gentle pat on the arm from Dodonna. There will be pity.
So her eyes drift further and she finds what she wants. The bar. Just a drink to steady her nerves, she tells herself. Never mind who is standing at the bar, she certainly isn't going over there to talk to him. She remembers her words to him. If money as all you want, then that is what you'll receive. And yet, he came back. Albeit at the last moment, but as it turned out, when he was most needed. And he saved Luke, he saved the day. She respected him for that. And that only. She ignores the memory of the tiny thrill she got when she hugged him after they had arrived back safely and the Death Star was destroyed. That was just the excitement of winning the day.
As soon as she approaches the bar, though, Han is on her like a shot.
"So, Your Worshipfulness, come to join me for a drink?" He winks at her as he says it and gives her a crooked grin. She rolls her eyes.
"Not everything is about you, flyboy, as hard as you may find that to believe." She says it archly, automatically pulling up a wall around her. She briefly wonders why – she isn't like this with Luke. But his whole attitude infuriates her.
"Come on, Sweetheart, I watched you make a beeline straight for me. Don't be shy about it."
"Han, you're standing at the bar. Everybody in this place is making a beeline straight to you."
Just then at table to the left of them broke out in raucous laughter at some unheard joke, as if to prove her point.
"Well, if it's a drink you want, allow me," he says with exaggerated gallantry, moving his arm in a circular motion expansively. "I know just the thing." He talks to the bartender and is rewarded with a drink, amber coloured with ice.
She takes it dubiously and gives it a cautious sniff. Her nose burns with the odour. Normally she is more partial to wine and even then in small amounts. She gives him a curious look.
"It's Correllian whiskey, only the best for my princess," he gloats.
"First of all, I am not your princess. Second of all…." Suddenly she can think of nothing else to say. Infuriated to leave her sentence hanging, thereby losing a battle of wits with Han, she makes a choice. She wanted a drink and now she has one. No, she needed a drink. So she looks him in the eye, raises the glass and pours it down her throat in one go. It burns like hells going down and she has to cover her urge to start coughing like a demon, but she manages to do it. She slams the empty glass on the bar and stares at him triumphantly. Suddenly the burn turns to a slow warmth travelling through her body. It adds to her joy at stunning the very unstunable Han Solo.
Han recovers quickly, shutting his open mouth and replacing it with a grin. "That's my princess!"
"Again, I am not your— oh forget it. Get me another one, would you?"