"Family Honor"
34 ABY (one year after events of The Force Awakens)
The doorbell chimed softly. Han Solo palmed his door open, revealing a tanned pilot with a day-old growth of beard and a nerf leather flight jacket. Before his future son-in-law could even say hello, Han pulled him out of the apartment, steering the younger man by the elbow. "Let's take a walk outside," he advised Poe Dameron.
"Yes, sir."
Since the government on Hosnian Prime had been obliterated, the capital of the Republic had been moved back to Coruscant, despite its association with the Imperial era. Coruscant was the convenient choice: all the government buildings were already built and ready to go back into service, even the domed Senate. Han and Leia's apartment was in 500 Republica, that famous skyscraper where so many senators had made their homes for decades.
The two men descended the turbolift to the ground level, and walked towards the sprawling Freedom Plaza. "You know," Han started casually, "you remind me of me, when I was younger."
"Thank you, General." Han had said he preferred to be called by his first name—that 'General' or 'sir' made him feel old—but Poe wasn't quite there yet. It seemed ridiculous to put himself on equal footing with Han Solo.
Solo shook his head. "That wasn't a compliment. Well, it sorta was a compliment. In some ways. I mean, you really can fly a ship." He thought about himself as a young man: cocky, self-involved, trusting nobody but Chewie. This boy wasn't like that; in some ways, he was just the opposite. Too willing to die for the cause, not concerned enough with self-preservation. Han started over. "Look, kid, I know you're dedicated to the Resistance, same as your parents were. The thing is, I'm not convinced you'll put my daughter's needs above your need to fight bad guys. And Breha, you know, is the most important thing, as far as I'm concerned."
Poe stopped walking, in order to look Han straight in the eye. "I'm completely in love with your daughter. And she's my number one priority. Sir," he added belatedly.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not talkin' about love. Yeah, you're…what's your word? 'Smitten,' you're smitten with her. So's Finn, so's everybody. Join the club. I'm talking about loyalty. You know? Take-a-blaster-bolt-for-her kind of loyalty."
Poe hesitated. "I…don't know how I can prove that to you. Breha generally doesn't need anyone to protect her from the bad guys. She takes care of herself."
"Of course she can take care of herself. She lived alone on that damned sandball planet for fifteen years. She can protect herself, but she shouldn't have to. You should look out for her, whether she wants you to or not. Her mom was the same—still is the same." Thinking of Leia's independent streak, he blew out a breath and shook his head. "It can be hard to cut through that stubbornness. But you protect her anyway, got it?"
"Absolutely," Poe said confidently, while still unsure about where this conversation was heading. He didn't think he had ever given anyone a reason to doubt his allegiance. He tugged down on his brown jacket, straightening it. "I see marriage as a partnership, like yours and General Organa's. Like my parents'." He shrugged lightly. "I'm lucky to have had good role models."
"Yeah, you have. But you're not just marrying a woman. You're marrying into a family with a real…uh, colorful…history. Skywalker, that name's as much a legend as a family. It's got weight to it. You know what you're getting into, Poe?"
He nodded earnestly.
"No, of course you don't," Han muttered. "You can't."
"I've gotten a couple of tastes of it. I've seen how people look at Jedi, at Master Skywalker and Breha, the fear and awe and I don't know what else." Even while the two handsome men were walking through the Senate District, they were getting some attention from passers-by: a mix of respect, curiosity, envy, distrust, attraction, and whatever else people saw in celebrities.
"Yeah, there's that. People have all kinds of weird ideas about the Jedi. And then there's the actual day-to-day life with someone who can sense your thoughts, who knows if you're happy or angry even if you tell her you're not, and can throw a shoe at you from across the room without moving a muscle."
Poe considered that last one. "So far, Brey hasn't done that."
"Well," Han hedged, "maybe she hasn't been that angry at you yet. It'll happen someday; she's my kid." He flashed Poe a grin before changing the subject. "Family honor, you know what I mean by that?"
"I consider the impact of my decisions on the family as a whole?"
"Yeah, something like that. You gotta start thinking as part of a unit, part of a team. X-wing pilots, they're solitary creatures, usually. But you in particular, you work real good in a squadron. And you need to start thinking of our family as a squadron. Breha has to be your wingman, and you've gotta be hers. That's not how I grew up, you know. I used to think of me and nobody else. Maybe Chewie. But then I met this princess who was taught as a child to always think of her planet, her family, and then herself, in that order. That philosophy, well, it changed my thinking. Especially after I had children. It became them first, me last."
"Yes, sir," Poe repeated.
They'd finished their quick circuit around the Plaza by now, and returned to 500 Republica. Han guided Poe into a turbolift and punched in the upper level. In the lift, he continued. "I know you're proud of your parents and the Dameron name. But you've also gotta start thinking of yourself as part of our family. You defend us, sacrifice for us, and we'll do the same for you, y'know? Whatever you need, we'll get it for you. We've got your back."
Poe went silent. He'd grown up with his parents' stories about Luke, Han and Leia, heroic figures that seemed larger than life. To become part of that story, join that family and have them look out for him, didn't feel quite real to Poe. But then again, over time he'd come to see General Organa as just a normal—though still admirable-person. Perhaps spending more time with Solo and Skywalker would allow him to see them as ordinary, as well. Eventually. "I understand what you're trying to say," Poe said slowly. "Sometimes I don't feel like I actually belong in your company, not as a member of your family, not yet. But I can rise to the challenge, I think. I know. I want to. I'll try to, I mean." He considered the lift's floor for a moment before raising his eyes to stare at Solo. "She's absolutely worth it."
"Yeah, she is," Han said emphatically. "So, uh, we were thinking about a wedding present, and we figured you could use something practical."
"You don't need to get us a present, General."
They arrived at the apartment building's rooftop hanger bay. Both men unconsciously did a quick visual inspection of all the ships parked there. Han gave his beloved Falcon the once-over, then gestured at a personal ship with an ostentatious gold finish and ornate gold-leaf trim. "That's the new Bothan senator's fashion statement."
"He even painted his name on the side. Wow. Wish all politicians were that humble." Poe tried to think of something positive to say about the ship, but could only manage, "I don't like the paint much."
Solo twisted his lip. "I don't like billionaire Bothans much." As Poe laughed, Han gestured to a much more understated silver yacht with a sharply pointed nose. "What d'ya think of her?"
Poe looked over the sleek lines with a pilot's admiration. "Ooh, that's a pretty ship. Nubian, right?"
"Yeah, they make real good ships on Naboo."
"Uh-huh. My mom used to love the Nubian style. Said it looked classy," Poe mused. "But something's not quite right with the design on this one." He chewed on his lip until it came to him. He pointed at the wing. "Oh, she's armed. Somebody added laser cannons. Nice." He scanned the ship with increased respect. "Wonder who owns that baby?"
"You do," Solo said, deadpan.
Poe's mind went blank. "Huh?"
Han grinned crookedly. "I just got finished telling you, kid. Family honor, you know? Whatever you need, we'll get you. You need a ship. Flying around in an X-wing with Breha on your lap," he said with a gleam in his eye, "doesn't really work after a while. And if you've got kids someday, well, an X-wing really ain't gonna cut it. There's barely enough room for you and that orange ball of yours in a snub fighter."
Poe's jaw hung open. "You got us a ship?" he breathed.
"Well," he shrugged, "Leia paid for it, mostly. Sold an Alderaanian tiara to a museum or something. But I picked her out." He switched into a professional tone of voice. "She's incredibly agile for her size, real fun to fly. And Luke, Chewie and me added a few, uh, special modifications. Holonet access, a signal jammer, faster hyperdrive, tougher shields, a few hidden compartments for contraband. Three bunks, a basic galley. And we souped up the weapons systems for you, as you already noticed. They're still legal, more or less, just…well, she can either outrun any bad guy or blow him up."
"You got us a ship," Poe repeated dumbly.
"Yeah." His brow furrowed. "You seem to be having a problem with this."
"No, not…I…you…it's…."
Han decided he'd just keep talking until Poe regained his power of speech. "She had just one previous owner, who kept her up to specs; I think she's twelve or fifteen years old, but wasn't flown that much, so she's practically new. The only problem with her is the name. Shiny Lady, that's her name. You're gonna want to change that."
"That's a dumb name," Poe muttered. The yacht was chromium-plated and gleamed cheerfully, but her name had to be dignified, meaningful.
"Yeah, terrible. Fix that."
"Does Breha know about this?"
"No, I thought you'd want to tell her. Maybe take her flying 'til dinnertime?" Han fished around his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small box. "Here, that's the slave circuit." He paused. When Poe didn't move, he added slowly, as if talking to a small child: "This is the button that opens the door. And these are the technical specs, the flight manifest and owner's manual and all."
"Oh my," Poe breathed. He took the little box reverently and pressed the main button. The craft's hatch opened obediently. Poe giggled like a little boy, and ran up the gangway ramp.
"See you later," Han murmured with a smile, quite satisfied with himself.
Poe and Rey went to her parents' apartment for dinner, still bubbling over with excitement at their new toy. After Poe had run through the ship—his ship—squealing like a delirious piglet, he had commed Rey. The pair had spent all afternoon flying around Coruscant, its four moons, and all the neighboring planets. After a few hours of trying to outdo each other with fancy piloting, they'd drifted in autopilot long enough to christen the bunk of the main cabin as well as the captain's chair in the cockpit. Now back on terra firma, they were keeping up an animated conversation with Han, Luke, and Chewie. Breha was working hard at keeping her post-coital emotions calm and dispassionate, while Luke was working hard at ignoring the signal-flare brightness of his niece's Force signature.
Leia was only half-listening to the discussion, not able or willing to keep up with all the technical jargon about ship specifications. These days, she was perfectly content to sit back and relish the relaxed atmosphere of a family dinner. Years ago, she had thrown herself into the Resistance to keep her mind focused on a cause rather than on her family's heartbreaking implosion. Leia had nearly forgotten how much she'd missed simple domestic tranquility. The only thing we're lacking is…no. She quickly pushed thoughts of Ben out of her mind. No sense ruining the good mood. Then a thought struck her, so she chirped up. "What're you two going to name the ship?"
Poe nodded towards Han. "He named her."
"I did?" Solo said innocently.
"Of course. You explained the whole reason you got her for us. Family honor and all that."
"Uh-huh. Glad to see you were listening. So what's her name?"
Poe spread his hands. "That's it. The Family Honor. Brey says we should call her Honor for short." He tilted his head, looking at Han for approval.
Han smiled gently. "I like that, kid."