a/n: setting: it's been a few hours - possibly merely a day - from the moment Leia returned to the rendezvous point after Bespin; i.e. - before Lando and Chewie even leave to search for Han.

Crimes of Passion

She awoke with clinical off-white walls all around her, eyes on a sterile ceiling lit with fluorescent lights, surrounded by the subtle hum of ship engines – consciousness flooded through her slowly, gradually, and she knew where she was overall, but not where she was specifically – the last thing she remembered was standing in a briefing, her eyes on the blueprints of a strategic target – and now her head was on a pillow, and she appeared to be in medical –

Leia blinked, and the action sent a throb through her head, which produced a slight frown. She blinked again, slowly, and then swallowed, turning her head.

Immediately she found herself looking at Carlist Rieekan, who was sitting patiently in a chair next to her bed. He looked relaxed; his hands were loosely clasped together, and he was slouching a bit, his uniform wrinkling up in slight disarray. When she met his eyes, he stared at her a moment before seeming to realize she was awake. He blinked and straightened up a little.

She started to speak, found her voice resistant to the effort, and cleared her throat, pausing a moment to catch her confused bearings before she tried again.

"What happened?"

He clasped his hands together a bit tighter.

"You passed out in the briefing," he advised her, without judgment.

Leia blinked, quietly taken aback, and then grimaced, her lips turning down in a dissatisfied scowl.

"Wonderful," she murmured. "I must inspire such confidence in the troops," she said, taking a dig at herself – why on earth had she – she wasn't the one who had just lost a limb; she wasn't the one who had just been tortured and then thrown into a pit of carbon – no, no, she couldn't think about Han right now.

Rieekan smiled a little, and Leia shifted her head, wincing.

"Why is my skull killing me?" she murmured, half to herself.

"I expect because you cracked it on the conference table on your way down."

Leia drew her hand from amongst the sheets and gingerly felt around her temple until she found a roughened bump – and scraped skin, too, it felt like. She felt a rush of mortification, and shifted her head – and so many officials had been in that meeting; Dodonna, Mon Mothma, Madine –

"Is something wrong with me?" she ventured dryly – had she caught something on Bespin?

Maybe you caught something from Han, a cynical voice in her head murmured, and then she felt like sobbing.

"They ran some tests, but you're perfectly healthy," Rieekan answered. He shrugged, and sat forward just a little, shoulders straightening out. "I expect you're just exhausted, and stressed," he went on, sighing shortly. "Princess, I'm frankly surprised it took three years for you to collapse at a meeting."

Leia closed her eyes lightly, turning her head completely the other direction – if anyone else said something like that to her, she'd be down their throat in an instant, coldly putting them in their place, snubbing their efforts to look after her, and deriding the practicality of taking a break.

This was Rieekan, though, fellow Alderaanian, man who had lost all the things that she had lost and who had so tacitly and so stubbornly looked after her for the past few years, doing it so subtly and so slyly that she was able to pretend she didn't notice, and that was a blessing for her.

She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and then rolled her head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling with a composed expression.

"I don't even remember feeling dizzy," she remarked, consternated. She'd gone straight to the briefing after ensuring Luke was taken to medical for immediate attention, she'd needed the distraction, needed to know what she'd missed -

She saw Rieekan shrug out of the corner of her eye.

"It happened pretty fast," he said dismissively.

Leia hesitated, and then compressed her lips tightly.

"Was there something in the briefing that would have…bothered me?" she asked delicately, sure Rieekan would understand her meaning – and he did, but he gave her an apologetic sort of smile, and shook his head.

"No, just a routine briefing on upcoming targets."

Leia huffed tensely, irritated with herself – sure, she hadn't slept in days, and she was running on harsh adrenaline and sense of fear and loss that was unfamiliar to her, and she'd just lost the one person who had been a source of stability and comfort for her in recent weeks –

"Princess," Rieekan ventured calmly, reaching up to run a hand through his short hair. He fell silent while she looked over at him expectantly, and then he ran his hand over his jaw, frowning not at her, but at himself. "I understand the gist of why you were prevented from reaching the rendezvous point," he said, "but in all the rush, and the attention on Luke's nasty encounter with Vader – I'm unclear on what exactly Captain Solo's fate is."

He chose to use the present tense because he was holding out hope that Leia's succinct, tight-lipped report had not meant something fatal happened to Solo. He also hadn't divulged that Leia had passed out cold about five minutes after someone flippantly mentioned that the Falcon would be the best ship to make an upcoming dangerous maneuver they were planning.

However, in light of the report Leia gave saying Han had been apprehended by a bounty hunter, and the mysterious Lando Calrissian who was currently being aggressively questioned by Rebel intelligence, Rieekan highly suspected her distress had everything to do with Solo and very little to do with anything physically wrong with her. He was smart enough to connect the dots - mention of Han, traumatic reaction from Leia. So, he pressed her for information.

He watched her carefully, and he watched her jaw tighten up and the muscles in her throat lock tensely, as if she were forcing herself not to cry – steeling herself. She'd looked the same way when she oversaw the Battle of Yavin at Dodonna's side.

"Boba Fett has him," she answered finally.

Rieekan hesitated.

"Is he dead?"

Leia gave a quiet sort of gasp, lifting her shoulders violently.

"No," she forced out hoarsely. Her mouth twisted painfully. "He might as well be. He will be," she continued, voice brittle. "Fett's taking him to Jabba. They put him in…they carbon froze him."

"Sith," Rieekan swore, his eyes widening grimly.

He rubbed his chin with trepidation, and averted his eyes for a moment, narrowing them.

"Is there any chance of intercepting…?"

Leia cut him off with a harsh, quiet laugh.

"He's not an official member," she said through her teeth. "Who would authorize it? Who would give a damn?"

She swallowed hard, bit her lip, and turned her head to Rieekan, her eyes narrowing.

"Calrissian promised me he'd go after him," she said, "he can't, if you keep him in interrogation."

Rieekan hesitated carefully, weighing his options.

"He has Imperial connections, and took favors from them," he warned, "and Chewbacca accused him of betraying you the minute he set foot on our territory."

Leia nodded, her head aching. Lando may have made it possible for them to narrowly dodge the Empire's clutches as they escaped Bespin, but Chewbacca had hardly calmed down and forgiven him – the minute they had reached the rendezvous point, the Wookiee had ripped Lando from the cockpit and all but thrust him down the ramp at the feet of high command, roaring that he was an Imperial informant.

"He betrayed us," she agreed. "He also let us go."

Rieekan snorted, wary.

"You can't trust someone who turns cloak that quickly," he advised.

Leia nodded again, her eyes on his – she agreed; Lando was a near stranger to her, a nuisance – this was all his fault, but she also knew, deep down, that he was a victim of desperation, and if he was anything like Han – and he had to be, if they'd run around together for so long in the past – he would stumble through mistakes, but he'd do the right thing, and she needed him.

"He owes me," she said softly, dangerously. "Carlist," she said, her voice wavering, "I owe Han."

Rieekan inclined his head.

"That's a fair point, Princess," he said. "I know he isn't officially one of us, but he's ensured your safety more than once, and I could argue for an exception – "

"They won't authorize a rescue mission for Han Solo," Leia said flatly. She quoted the manual at him: "Resources as they pertain to search and rescue and reconnaissance are not to be allocated to contractors at the expense of diverting attention from the enlisted rank and file."

Rieekan's smile was a sort of grimace; she was probably the only person in the whole damn Alliance, besides Mon Mothma, who could quote their procedural manifesto as well as their ideological one. He leaned forward a bit, looking at her thoughtfully.

"Chewbacca won't rest until he finds him," he noted. "He owes him a life debt, doesn't he?"

Leia nodded, parting her lips a little.

"Only as long as he's alive."

Rieekan heard the bitterness, the defeat in his voice, and he frowned a little, swallowing hard. She turned away, her face pale, and he fell silent – he'd been sitting near her in this meeting; he'd heard the sharp intake of breath when someone casually, wistfully, mentioned the Falcon, and he was sure she'd started holding her breath, which explained her hitting the floor pretty soon after.

Leia held her teeth together tightly, struggling to contain everything she was feeling behind a locked jaw – they had Luke in emergency medical, Lando Calrissian confined in a holding cell for questioning, and she hadn't even been able to get through a meeting without betraying herself – and what had Carlist said, that he was surprised this was the first time she'd collapsed?

What the hell did it say to her people that she handled herself stoically after her entire planet was eviscerated, but she lost it at the prospect of losing one man?

She tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in her throat, and sounded more like a soft sob – and Rieekan was still there, looking at her, concerned about her.

"Bounty hunters," she said thickly. "Ord Mantell, Bespin – if it weren't for bounty hunters," she swallowed – Han was going to stay, if it weren't for bounty hunters.

Leia pushed the palm of her hand into the mattress beside her – the cynical voice of her conscience echoed in her head again – this is what you get for thinking you can be happy, honey.

She turned her head violently to the side, staring at Rieekan – she felt guilty, and desperate, and maybe she felt the need to confess to him, confide in him, because he was one of her people, and he was even like a surrogate father, though she'd never tell him that and burden him with the comparison – but she suddenly, intensely, wanted to hear what he thought about the Princess of Alderaan ripping her heart out and throwing it to a smuggler.

""Carlist," she said quietly, getting his attention.

He lifted his brows thoughtfully, and she faltered, her stomach twisting.

"I'm in love with him," she whispered.

Rieekan blinked at her as if he hadn't heard, and then blinked again and raised his brow – but he wasn't surprised, or appalled – at least not concerning Solo – he just couldn't believe she'd actually admitted it out loud. He considered her a moment, and he noted the flicker of mildly startled confusion that sparked in her eyes when he grinned broadly.

"Figured that out, did you?" he asked, his tone jovial.

His mouth formed a smirk, and she gave him a small, withering frown, a scowl lightly touching her brows – she did not want to be reminded that there were plenty of people in this insurgency who were going to gloat or win money – or both – over this.

She was silent a moment, and then her brows relaxed.

"Confronted, is what you mean," she murmured, resigned. Not figured out. Confronted. Figured out implied she had been clueless about her own emotions, and Leia Organa had never once been unsure about how she felt, she'd only been unsure concerning what to do about it. "I'm not an idiot," she noted under her breath.

She put her arm over her head, looking up at the ceiling, Rieekan's eyes on her profile. She swallowed hard – because this was the hard part, the really hard part, the part she definitely couldn't take back.

"I told him," she said. "I told him I love him," she emphasized. Her mouth felt dry, and she ran her fingers over her forehead, her eyes stinging. "In front of a lot of people," she added faintly.

She didn't want to sound hysterical or certifiably insane, so she refrained from adding and he heard me, Carlist. He heard me.

Rieekan bit back another bright smile, and considered her a moment.

"Interesting," he said, while in the back of his mind he thought, finally, Princess, finally – he felt a sense of relief at her confession, because it made him a little less worried about her – it's been hell on the rest of us, or me, at least, watching you bruise him and bruise him because you're scared to be happy.

Leia's expression was troubling him, and he sensed it had a lot to do with the chaotic trepidation that came with realizing another person had part of your heart, though for her that fluttery, exhilarating realization had to be compounded with a resistance to get attached, due to all she'd lost, and probably a fair bit of wariness over whether or not her peers would respect her choice.

Rieekan leaned forward on his knees, sighing, his hands hanging loosely in front of him.

"It's not a crime," he said. "Well," he added, a bit wry, "perhaps a crime of passion." Emotions could be volatile; giving in to them could easily be considered acts of defiance and wild smiled a bit. "When you love people, you tell them," he said sagely.

Especially in times like these, Princess, he thought heavily, his jaw tightening, in times like these, the only thing we have is each other.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, resting her eyes closed, hiding behind her arm.

"It's not that simple," she managed steadily.

Rieekan bowed his head, frustrated, and sad – he was always sad these days, everything he felt was coated with a thin, persistent, dull layer of sadness, and he was resigned to it now, because he expected that was the sort of permanent emotion that came with the holocaust of your home world, but he felt that sadness more strongly now, on her behalf – for all she had lost, all they had both lost, and for all they still might lose, and it left a deep sort of ache in his chest to hear her talk about love like it was a sin or an inconvenience.

He cleared his throat, and pulled his chair closer, glancing at the door.

"Princess," he said quietly, almost sternly. "You deserve to be in love."

She drew her hand away from her face.

"I don't think I don't deserve it," she said tersely, pushing her shoulders back stubbornly.

Rieekan pressed his fingers together and then touched them to his chin, regarding her thoughtfully.

"Right, let me rephrase," he said gruffly. "You're allowed to have this," he said pointedly.

She turned her head at that, eyes on his, guarded and intent. Her lips trembled.

"He's gone, Carlist," she said, stricken. "He's already gone."

Rieekan reached out boldly and took her hand, pressing it between his.

"You have every right to make this a personal mission," he said firmly.

She sat forward a little, rising up, curling her fingers around his lightly.

"You mean – take leave? Run off searching for him?" she asked choking out the words with skeptical, painful laughter. "How would that look? A member of high command abandoning duty to rescue a man?"

Rieekan shrugged.

"It's returning a favor," he quipped. "He rescued you."

Leia tapped Rieekan's wrist with her nail.

"Oh, Carlist," she said, shaking her head, "those two gundarks would be dead on the Death Star if it wasn't for me," she teased weakly.

Rieekan smiled a little.

"Well, I believe that," he said, looking down at her hand. He looked back up at her with a serious expression, brows knitted. "You've given this Rebellion enough of yourself, Princess."

She started to speak, but he shook his head, holding up one hand, clasping the other in his fingers.

"Continuing this fight isn't just about keeping up morale, and believing we can win," he advised wisely, "it's about believing it so confidently, and so deeply, that we look past the next fight and start planning for the future, and thinking about what we want when we get there, and aiming for that life once the battle is won."

He stopped a moment, letting the words sink in – as it were, his words were similar to something her father had once told him when he was a young cadet, fresh off his first harrowing, brutal battle, experience for the first time what it was like to lose friends in the trenches and feel survivor's despair.

Viceroy Organa had told him – surviving these wars, and these devastations, is about having something to come back to. If you don't have hope, if you don't make connections, if you don't always keep finding an anchor to the world, you will be snatched from it, because you'll be looking down when the blow comes, instead of charging forward.

"Leia," he said, dropping her title, "I don't want you to have nothing but this war in your life. That's a dangerous mindset."

She listened to him silently, transfixed, her throat tight.

"When it's over, and we've won," he said pointedly, "I don't want you to think you've served your purpose, and be swallowed up. You don't just owe it to Han to do everything you can to save him. You owe it to yourself. Don't resign yourself to loss. Fight to have him for when this war is over."

She flicked her eyes down, staring at his hands, and she drew her lip between her teeth, weighing his words – she hadn't thought much about winning this war; since Alderaan, it had all been about getting through the dangerous days by the skin of her teeth – and to some extent, the development of her relationship with Han had been like that in these past few weeks, because she'd finally decided there was no point in depriving herself of him when she could die at any second.

She just hadn't quite imagined him being snatched away so immediately.

She cleared her throat softly.

"You think we can win?" she asked, expressing, for the first time, a tiny sliver of doubt, a small bit of dread – she was passionate about this cause, she was born for this cause, and she'd always been a beacon of confidence in it – but uncertainty found a way to lurk even in her mind, sometimes.

Rieekan nodded firmly.

"Revolutions are not fought by people who think they are going to lose," he said succinctly. "We may have been dealt a blow at the Battle of Hoth, but the Empire is like a mad kath hound," he said tightly, "there's a point where it will get so pissed off, it will make a critical error."

He paused, and then arched his brows.

"And when that time comes, we need the best leaders," he smiled, "and the best pilots," he squeezed her hand, "and the fastest ships," clearly, he meant the Falcon, "we can get."

He let go of her hand, letting it rest on the bed next to her and patting it before he drew back a little.

"Efficiency isn't the only thing good leaders possess, Princess," he said. "They must also have – "

"Humanity," Leia finished hoarsely. "Or, rather, to encompass all sentient beings – a deep sense of kinship with the living." She nodded at him, and to herself. "Yes," she agreed. "My father told me that, too."

Rieekan leaned back proudly.

Leia sat up slowly, wincing a little – her head was still fuzzy and throbbing a bit. She leaned back against the metal back of the med center bed, and placed her hands in her lap – someone had loosened her hair and tied it in a clumsy mess of a braid, probably to better examine her head while she was unconscious. She swept a few strands behind her ears.

"Even if I request leave, and go after Han," she began slowly, "there's no guarantee I save him. No guarantee he's alive when I find him."

"There aren't any guarantees in life, period," Rieekan said flatly.

Leia nodded, looking down at her hands. She blinked and – to her dismay, tears slipped out of her eyes – not in large quantities, and not with any rush of drama, but she couldn't hold them back and she barely caught them, just two tears on either side of her face.

She reached up to brush one, bowing her head.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, chagrined – embarrassed – she reached to catch the other, and her hand collided with Rieekan's as he took care of it for her, a swift, non-threatening swipe of his thumb across her cheek.

She lifted her head, and he smiled at her easily – he hardly thought it inappropriate for her to cry a little.

She fidgeted with the sheets around her, sighing shortly. She fought with herself for a moment, and then glanced up through her lashes at Rieekan.

"You don't think he's inappropriate?" she asked finally – he was Alderaanian, after all; he had known her father, he knew her house, her home, her people – on some level she wanted him to speak on their behalf, to be a proxy for her parents' blessing.

Rieekan tilted his head. He shrugged.

"Will he treat you right?" he asked.

Leia thought back to the trip to Bespin – to the three years she'd known Han, and everything that had happened since they day they met – petty bickering aside, the answer was easy; of course he would.

She nodded.

"Does he feel the same way about you?" Rieekan asked.

Leia took a deep breath – well, he hadn't said as much, not in so many words – or rather, three words. Not like she had – but didn't actions speak louder, and hadn't every single moment on that sublight trek to the Anoat system been proof –

She nodded again, compressing her lips.

"Yes, he does," she decided.

"That's all I need to hear," Rieekan said bluntly.

He was suddenly looking at her with such smug satisfaction, such a knowing, content expression, she had to look away, her cheeks flushing, because she felt like the words I fucked Han Solo must be emblazoned on her forehead. She stared at her fingernails, and then brought her hands to her face, touching her cheeks lightly.

"I'll kill him if he hurts you," Rieekan offered seriously, his tone matter-of-fact, and so comfortingly paternal that she smiled a little wistfully, missing her father, wishing desperately she could see the look of confused consternation that would be on Bail's face of Han strode into the throne room.

"That's alright, Carlist," she said, looking up wryly, "I can take care of the maiming if he screws up."

Rieekan smirked, conceding that point, and her smile wavered a little.

"If I see him again," she amended.

Rieekan stood slowly, leaning over a moment to catch her eye on her level.

"I will back you when you ask for leave," he said –as if it was a given now that she would. He nodded once for emphasis. "I meant what I said, Princess," he said firmly, "you've given this Rebellion enough of yourself," he repeated. "They may be displeased, but they won't court martial you over loyalty to someone who means that much to you."

She lowered her hands from her face and nodded slowly. She needed to think – she wasn't sure if she could trust Lando; what if he took off with her, and then handed her over to Vader? And Luke – Luke needed her right now, too, something was wrong with him, terribly wrong, something more than just losing a hand – but at least now, she gained confidence in knowing one of her own people wouldn't look down on her for wanting to let go of her duty for a moment for the sake of personal fulfillment.

Rieekan cleared his throat.

"You ought to just get some sleep," he advised frankly. "Let 'em keep you here and diagnose you with exhaustion or anxiety and just be sad for the rest of the day," he suggested. "Then get up, and make a plan. Get him back."

Leia's lips turned up a little. She gave Rieekan a piercing look and sighed quietly, uncertain, a little apprehensive.

"Carlist, don't you think high command – Mon Mothma, Dodonna – don't you think they'll see it as a rejection of responsibility?" she asked tiredly. "Foolish, naïve? Princess Leia flits off, pining after man?"

Rieekan lifted his shoulders, slightly exasperated – she outranked him ten times over, and she would have been his queen one day, and it was a little heartbreaking how good she was at self-sacrifice and leadership, if she really thought that caring about someone, loving someone, should always be equated with youthful silliness.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, and pardon my Basic – who the fuck cares what they think?"

Leia's brows rose, and her lips parted a little, marveling at Rieekan. He smiled at her, inclined his head, and then strolled off looking a bit too pleased with himself, and Leia stared after him, fixated on his retreating figure. It took her a moment to finally blink, mulling over his casual declaration, and then she fell back against the bed, slouching down, gathering sheets around herself.

She closed her eyes and turned on her side, pulling a pillow towards her, pressing her cheek into the cool side.

I fucked Han Solo she thought to herself; I love Han Solo.

She swallowed hard, clenching and unclenching her hand, letting the movement be a gradual way of relaxing her muscles and allowing, as Rieekan had advised, the sadness to wash through her – so she could deal with it before she steeled herself to face the high command, and the hunt that she would embark on.

The Empire won't take this away from me. Not this. Not him, she told promised herself. No one will.

His final words to her echoed in her ears – I know – and her eyes flew open.

Of course she had to go after him; she couldn't let him go to his grave with the last word – especially not when it was basically a version of I told you so, Your Worship! A tentative smile broke over her lips, and she caught her breath; she loved him, and she was glad she'd have Carlist's' unwavering support in her corner when she told the High Command that if they didn't like it, they could go to hell, because Han solo was going to live to see the day he said those words back to her.

-Alexandra

story #311

p.s. - I haven't read "Moving Target" but I heard that in it, Mon Mothma is the one who kind of nudges Leia to go after Han. I'm still stuck in the EU most of the time, where she's the one who pushes Leia towards Isolder, so this doesn't take that new canon book into account (obviously as, again, I haven't read it).