Author's Note - This is a crossover that breaks canon six ways to Sunday and is impossible in a million ways. I still had to write it though. Major Spoilers for Serenity and Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

Zoe walked across the length of the bar, wiping her hand on her pants. She just made a smuggling deal with a less than reputable man who had leered at her and insinuated all sorts of unseemly things. Her first instinct was to wipe the floor with his smug grin, but they were low on funds and she couldn't afford to be choosy. Mal was usually the one to make the deals, but he was laid up with some unknown virus and Simon was working furiously to keep him hydrated as he vomited up everything they tried to put in him.

Zoe decided to indulge in one drink before heading back to the ship which reeked of sick no matter how many times it was scrubbed clean. That'd teach Mal to order street food from a vendor who was also known for skirting several health regulations.

"You can't trust Calfan."

Zoe swung around on her stool to see an older woman next to her, sipping something that reeked of wormwood and was bubbling furiously. The petite woman's grayish brown hair was coiled in a long intricate braid, fastened tight to her scalp, the only indulgence in an otherwise plain outfit consisting of a black vest over a brown jumpsuit. To a casual observer, she looked like a regular patron . . . . beautiful, but ordinary. But to Zoe's keen eyes, there was something different about the woman, almost regal, and she shone out from the rest of the rabble in the bar as though she were painted in neon.

"I can't?"

The woman shook her head. "He'll tell you all kinds of lies and then leave you high and dry. My husband always says . . ." The woman looked down and frowned slightly, shaking her head. ". . . . said . . . that Calfan would sell out his own mother if there were any profit in it."

"Thanks for the advice," Zoe said drolly. "We're far out of our normal stomping grounds and let's just say . . . it's hard to know who to trust."

"Smugglers can't trust many people."

"Ain't that the truth." Zoe regarded the woman intently. "You don't have the look of a smuggler."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"I would," Zoe replied. "I'm Zoe."

"Leia." She held out her hand to shake.

"You said husband . . ." Zoe normally didn't pry in other people's affairs, but sorrow hung about the woman like a shroud.

"He died. Recently."

"Mine, too." Zoe hated the word. Widow. But, she supposed she had to wear it now.

Leia gave her a smile full of compassion. "Well, then let's have a drink. A toast to those that have passed." She waved over to the bartender who plopped something strong and vile in front of Zoe. "It'll take the paint off of a cruiser, but it does the job," she warned Zoe.

"To Wash." Zoe lifted up the cup, a bit worried that she'd black out from the fumes alone.

"To Han."

Zoe couldn't help but wince as she took a sip, glad that her fellow crew mates weren't there to see her grimace at the drink. She did have a certain reputation to uphold.

"So . . . are you in need of some funds?" Leia asked softly.

"We might be . . ." Zoe answered cautiously. She instinctively trusted the woman, but they were far, far from home and they had to be careful about taking unnecessary risks. The Alliance might not be after them any more, but there were plenty of others who would love to take them down.

Leia smiled. "You seem like a person worthy of trust. Honorable, even."

"Some would say there's no honor among thieves," Zoe countered.

"But we know that's not true," Leia replied. "If you want work . . . paid work and you've got a good crew . . . . well, we're always looking for help."

"We?"

"The Resistance."

Zoe smiled. "Now, that's a name I like."

Author's Note - This is based on a tumblr post by whedonesque. I loved the idea of them meeting.