Salute

by madame.alexandra

A salute - a gesture (usually military) used to indicate respect, greeting, or farewell. In this case, perhaps all three (literally, and metaphorically). Han and Leia come to a clear point of demarcation in what has been a well-fought, post-war journey - and end that's really more of a beginning. H/L; an Identity 'verse installment.

1. 1

a/n: this one can be defined sort of as a core story, and sort of as a periphery story; the most important thing about it is that this installment is where the integral parts of the Identity universe end! it feels odd using an exclamation point there - am i happy, or sad? don't worry, i don't have a habit of "ending" my universes in that i never touch them again. this one will still be written in, the stories will just be one shots or anthologies. here, we just round everything out -stability and happy endings. see the following notes for refreshers on context/timeline:

ANH (OABY), ESB (3 ABY), ROTJ (4 ABY). Identity began in 4 ABY (prologue, 2 months post-Battle of Endor), spanned 5 ABY, and ended with the wedding in 6 ABY. The Naberries and Backlash covered 6 ABY. Casualty (and Recovery) covered 7 ABY, and ended with the Haven opening during New Year's Festival Week, 8 ABY. Forward bridges further into 8 ABY, which brings us here:

this story 'verse continues to be AU.

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1/2

3 years post-Identity;
almost 2 years post-wedding

---

There was a unique and welcome allure present in the atmosphere of their new home; the air was fresh, and light - the ambiance was distinct, flavored with quiet, exciting newness, and anticipation, but tempered too with a sense of satisfied yearning, and safety, and success. The combination of such a complex aura -a notion of peril, at last having reached its plateau, and fierce, restless ambition for the future - simmered warmly in the heart, and drew Leia into intense reflection as she stood within the doorway of one of the empty rooms.

Her eyes roamed over the fresh walls, the sparkling sunlight streaming through a window that faced into a green, flourishing courtyard - a rarity, in the midst of the smog-ridden, heavy metal jungles of Coruscant - and she contemplated it: home; this home, and the idea of the word at the core.

She had been without a home, in some sense of the word, for so long. Her home had been taken, obliterated, its physical form reduced to scattered shrapnel around her. She had been left a fugitive, an orphan, a fractured soul - lost, wandering in a wilderness of uncertainty, and running from a seemingly invincible foe. Against all odds, though, that foe had been defeated, and then the galaxy was in a state of flux comparable to hers - liberated, but injured, and faced with a raging uphill battle just to find stability and peace - true, tenable peace.

She still vividly remembered the isolated interlude she had taken with Han in the dawning days of Rebellion victory, the quiet seclusion in the mountains of Corellia where her losses had settled, really settled, for the first time, rooting deep in her bone marrow and filling her with a tense, ravaging fear that remained a tempestuous influence on her emotions for years.

In all the residual fighting of the Reconstruction period she had occupied temporary spaces - temporary governments, temporary homes - until Han came back to her from the final battle, and she dismissed pressures to marry politically, and they found that first home together, that first place, small, and simpler than she had ever expected - a stumbling, toddler home where even in the burgeoning calm of the New Republic their personal trials, adjustments, and recoveries had still raged.

It had all converged on this, to this moment, and this place, that seemed to serve as a blessed demarcation, a point both physical and metaphorical that would serve as the launching point for life beyond the war, beyond the trauma - life lived, rather than life fought for, and then fought with. It was odd to think that a new, barely christened penthouse could mean so much, and feel so comfortable - and yet it soothed her heart, settled her mind, and brought unbridled delight to her soul similar to the abandon she felt when she and Han first moved in together.

She bore no animosity towards their old apartment; it had been well loved, and eagerly lived in. It had been theirs, but it had been obtained in carefully controlled chaos, in urgency - chosen with care, but not necessarily with permanent intent. She had wanted to be with Han, live with Han, in their own private safe haven after the war, and tangential to that was the feeling that she needed to cement her unavailability in the eyes of her colleagues and would be suitors by shacking up with him. It had been a transient place, in its own way, and they both knew that subconsciously, an unobtrusive battleground for personal demons that would always remain meaningful - and in a more tangible sense, would always remain theirs, as Leia had decided against selling the old apartment.

Since events during the Skywalker Reckoning that had revealed her address to the public, she was wary of the location becoming a shrine to be gawked at, particularly because so much private pain had been weathered within those walls. And so, as she and Han moved on, it remained another property in the hands of the vast Organa holdings, there to be remembered, or looked back on, if needed.

Here, in the elite, ravishingly private Conservation District - one of the few quieter, more aesthetically pleasing sectors - Leia had found a place as close to a dream as one could find on the rabid city planet. Nestled much closer to the Alderaanian Embassy - whereas the old apartment had been strategically close to the Senate, and military headquarters - their new home was a more secure oasis, a privileged area with diminished traffic, more space; a community of others with enough wealth and power to demand as much seclusion as one could find on Coruscant and enough sense not to pry into the business of the iconic couple quietly settling in to one of the buildings.

She had chosen this with attention to detail and care, with thought and foresight, with the intention of living beyond the shadow of the Empire, beyond the scope of the post-war era and far into the true renaissance of the New Republic. It was a place for the future, for the so-called rest of their lives - for family, for everything they wanted. It was elegant, spacious, and luxurious, though still by no means a palace like the ones of Leia's youth.

She likened it to the modern, high-end apartment Winter had secured for herself, while Han dramatically - though with clear enjoyment - declared that it was, indeed, a castle. Where their old place had been a place of bridges and struggle, of revitalization and discovery, this was the place of confidence and established victory - the place where their future would unfold uninhibited.

She and Han had spent the past two months finalizing the move - determining the layout of rooms, furnishings, and dealing with technicalities such as docking for the Falcon, pet permits, access codes. Leia had been handling furniture commissions from Alderaanian artists, had made choices in decor, signed papers, sorted through old things and new - it was a lengthy process that they had thrown themselves into as they put her miscarriage and his bacta therapy behind them, one spent back-and-forth between old and new (and some nights, for old time's sake, on the Falcon), weeks of preparation endlessly careening towards the day when they could declare themselves utterly moved in, and Leia could stand - as she did now - on the threshold of a room that was yet to be filled and feel she was home.

She felt at ease, and rejuvenated - a whirlwind of emotions fluttered in her, but all of them coalesced into quiet calm for the time being. Her shoulder pressed into the doorframe at her side, and she thought idly of many things – upcoming diplomatic negotiations, Han's impending retirement, and the looming prospect of meeting her brother's paramour.

In the grand scheme of things, dinner with Mara Jade hardly seemed like a monumental event, but for Leia it was, and in its own way, it was a kind of final step in moving away from the residues of darkness.

Leia shifted her feet, tilting her head up, her lashes fluttering at the shift of the sun through the window – across from her, at a slight angle, was a neat, cozy built in window seat, one that reminded her of a reading nook – albeit much grander – she had once had nestled into a gilded window in her bedroom in Aldera. She didn't at all mind the lack of grandeur about this one; it was simple, yet so important to her, as what she missed was not the opulence of Alderaan, but the hearth, and the familiarity – and she was rediscovering that feeling in her surroundings.

She moved away from the door and strode across the empty room, bare feet sinking into the plush, pristine carpet as she walked – it had that new, perfect feel; unlived in, a blank slate waiting to be stained and mussed up with flurries of activity – her feet, Zozy's paws, Han's feet – little feet –

She sat down in the window seat, tucking herself into the corner, peering out into the courtyard – the view was beautiful, a rare thing on Coruscant. Not every room with a window was graced with such a blessed view; some had other vantage points, though not as crowded as in other districts – but this one was one of the near-perfect ones, and from it she could gaze past a little shelf where one could put a window garden and stare down into the private area where, even now, a few young children scampered around playing with their toys.

Her hand drifted to the window, and then down to her chest as she watched them pensively, contemplating herself, and her instincts. She was so finely aware of herself lately that despite not being quite sure, she was almost sure – and she knew, even better, what to feel for this time –

Leia brushed her fingers over her ribs, pressing her fingertips into her abdomen. Her foot dangled off the window seat, toes curling and brushing the carpet lazily. Vaguely, she wondered where Han had gotten to – he'd gone off to investigate the panicked chirping sounds Zozy was making from somewhere in the penthouse.

They had so recently put the finishing touches on everything – moved in, in every sense of the words; all that was left now to make their marks, to deeply imprint on the place, to live.

She closed her eyes briefly, leaning her head back, her hand laying in her lap limply – and opened them again only when a shadow fell over her. The shadow, somehow both tall, and wriggly, didn't say anything until Leia tilted her head and blinked, and when she showed those signs of movement, Han gently dumped Zozy into her lap.

The Mooka gave an excited squeak and leapt up to lick her jaw. She accepted the affection with a smile, but quickly, almost instinctively, slid her hand between her abdomen and Zozy's paws, just for a little extra protection – couldn't hurt.

"What was he fussing about?" Leia murmured, pursing her lips and pressing a little kiss to Zozy's snout as he calmed down and sat down happily in her lap, his feathery tail swishing back and forth contently.

Han folded his arms.

"Don't think he likes empty rooms," he grunted. "Found him standing in front of one of the ones we ain't figured out yet, just chirping at it suspiciously."

Leia giggled softly.

"I snuck up on 'im and he ran off, scaled up into Chewie's hammock, and got stuck," Han added indignantly. "I told 'im Chewie's gonna eat 'im for dinner."

Leia clicked her tongue, smoothing the feathers around Zozy's ears down. She shook her head.

"Chewbacca won't eat you," she soothed. She rubbed Zozy's chest. "Not enough meat on your bones," she whispered.

She let him snuggle a little closer, and looked up at Han, blinking as her eyes adjusted – the sun was hitting him oddly, coming in the window in a strange way, and it was both too bright to look at him, and she couldn't see him well.

"Sit down," she murmured.

Han sat down – effortlessly, collapsing on the other side of the window seat with her. Instead of propping one leg up and dangling the other as she did, he stretched both out, and crossed his legs at the ankle, somehow managing to balance on the hard surface with the appearance of carefree ease.

He reached out and ran his hand over her ankle lightly, his fingertips pressing into her skin.

"You like the empty rooms?" he asked.

Leia smiled at him softly her head resting back against the wall.

"I don't mind them," she murmured.

Han looked around intently, a thoughtful frown touching his lips. She knew he wasn't used to this much space – even their brief stay at the Alderaanian Embassy was different; that place was entirely furnished, suites were somewhat compact, and it had been full of Leia's family, making it seem full and crowded when it wasn't.

"You?" she ventured.

"S'eerie," Han muttered slowly. He shot her a wry look. "'M not gonna go around chirpin' at the corners, though," he teased, flicking his eyes down pointedly at Zozy.

Zozy seemed to sense was being talked about, and let his tongue poke out, tilting his head cutely at Han. He swished his tail, and Han rolled his eyes.

"We always had empty rooms – empty wings, really – in the palaces," Leia said reflectively. "Standing at the ready for guests, friends, extended family," she listed. She shrugged. "Furnished, of course," she murmured. "This one isn't furnished."

"You spend a lot of time in this one," Han pointed out.

Leia looked taken aback.

"I do not," she protested, her brow furrowing – she wasn't angry, she just disagreed – she certainly didn't spend a significant amount of time milling around in the emptiness in here – she passed it frequently, as it was down the same hallway as their master bedroom –

Han nodded, tilting his head.

"Yeah," he countered. "You're always stoppin' in the doorway to glance around. Or startin' to put boxes in here, then takin' 'em out," he said. "Or, you were, 'til we got everything unpacked."

She looked at him wordlessly, her brow still knit uncertainly – was she doing so, subconsciously? It wasn't a room suited for them; they needed more ample closet space and an ensuite 'fresher. This was more suited for –

"Well," Leia said delicately. "I like this room."

She shifted her hand, brushing it down Zozy's back, and then setting it down next to her and placing her palm flat on the window seat.

"I had a sort of seat like this, in Aldera," she said. "I would sit in it and read, or study, or write," she listed, and then smirked a little, "or daydream."

"What d'ya daydream about?" Han asked predictably.

"Nice men," Leia retorted promptly, her eyes flashing primly.

He gave her a serious look.

"You ever find one?"

Leia rolled her eyes lightly, turning to look out the window again. She leaned forward slightly, and as she did Zozy leapt from her lap, scampering across the open floor happily, and Leia was able to bend entirely towards Han, reaching out to slide her hands over the one he had on her ankle, and interlace their fingers.

She pulled his hand up a little and lowered her lips, kissing his knuckles.

"No," she drawled, every bit of her tone indicating the opposite.

Han smirked, twisting his hand around in her grip to push his palm upwards, and cup her cheek briefly before she let him go, and his hand drifted back to her ankle. He shifted, and gave her a dry look.

"Seat could use some cushions," he grumbled.

Leia pursed her lips.

"My, you're sounding old," she teased lightly, resting the point of her elbow on her knee and cupping her cheek in her palm.

She cut her lashes at him playfully, and he gave her a defiant glare, though didn't say anything else. His shoulders pressed back into the corner, one of them nudging up against the glass of the window.

Zozy began to prance in circles, chasing his colourful tail, and Leia watched him with amusement, well aware of Han watching her. He drew his feet in a little, sitting up a bit, adjusting for comfort. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance out the window, and then he cleared his throat.

"So, you got any ideas for this room?" he asked gruffly.

Leia nodded, without looking at him for a moment.

Han gestured idly at the garden box outside the window.

"Ought to plant those seeds Tavska gave you a while back out here," he muttered. "They'd grow nice."

"Hmm," Leia murmured, turning to face him again – he meant the seeds Tavska had given her as a congratulatory gift, last year in the last few weeks of her pregnancy.

Han looked back at her. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Want me to hang the arallutes in here?" he asked.

She turned her hand over, resting her chin on her knuckles, instead of her palm, and afforded the room another languid look around – her focus shifting from Zozy, entertaining himself, to the sparkling sunlight bouncing off the walls.

She nodded, her lips parted slightly. The arallutes – pressed petals from the flowers her father had given her last year, as well – were kept in a delicately carved shadowbox that Sola Naberrie had given her, specifically for some such memorial purpose, she supposed.

Han started to get up, but Leia lunged forward fluidly and shook her head, having her hands.

"Leave it for now," she said – it was one of the only things still in a box, along with some other trinkets that had no place yet, or they simply hadn't been bothered to place in their appropriate decorative spots.

She sighed, tucking her shoulders in close, and shook her head a little, visibly basking in the sun.

"Let's soak this in for a little while," she murmured.

Han nodded, arching his brow somewhat sternly.

"You gotta come here," he said, gesturing to his chest.

Without protest, Leia shifted around until she was positioned in the window seat with her back to Han, resting all of her weight on him. He parted his legs, his knee drawn up and aligned against the window, the other still stretched out with his ankle digging into the floor. The movement drew Zozy's attention, and Han twitched his ankle mildly at the Mooka as Zozy launched a full-scale assault on his master's toes.

Hans lips pressed against the back of her head, and then the crown of it, his nose tickling her scalp as he breathed in and out slowly for a moment, wrapping his arm tight around her chest in a quick, comforting hug.

"Don't, y'know," he murmured. "Don't get…anxious," he warned softly. "Hasn't been that long."

Leia rested her hand on his forearm, content. It hadn't – not since they had removed all obstacles and started trying again. Not that long in some respects, yet longer, for sure, than it had taken last time. She knew Han was treading carefully, often anxious himself, walking a fine line between wanting to know where her head was, and discuss it, and yet not make her feel as if he were impatient with the process, or making demands on her, physically or emotionally.

She shook her head calmly.

"Anxious? Me?"

Han snorted softly, and nudged her jaw with his nose.

"You know what I mean," he mumbled. "Don't get discouraged."

She dipped her head down, and her lips brushed against his arm.

"I'm not discouraged," she murmured honestly, her heart racing in her chest – here they sat, in the window seat of a room she felt, in her soul, was the perfect little space to call a nursery, a room they had just implicitly agreed was exactly that, and she wanted to turn and grab him and shriek it at him, in a hoarse, half-panicked, half-excited whisper, Han, I think I'm pregnant – I almost know –

Yet she refrained, for her own peace of mind, and for the sake of security. Certainty, she knew, would settle in when it was ready to settle in, as it had last time, and then a sort of lingering apprehension would likely keep her quiet a bit longer – good meditations, bright moments in the Force whispered to her that there was nothing to worry about from here on out, but she knew herself, and she knew she would wait, if only a little while, until the tangible power in her, the sinew and blood and bone, told her it would take this time.

Instead of saying anything, she watched Zozy; she smiled a little, and pressed herself closer against him, to his warmth, and his comforting scent, letting her mind drift away from that for the time being, and settle into the here and now. Han loosened his protective, single-armed hug and began running his hand up and down her arm, the other lazily massaging the back of her neck.

"Leia," he murmured.

"Hmmm?"

"This Luke thing, you sure you're up for it?" Han ventured, matter-of-fact.

"Luke thing," Leia repeated, quoting him thoughtfully. "You mean the Mara thing?" she countered.

"Kind of a semantic distinction," Han muttered.

Her head fell back against his shoulder a bit more, and she arched her neck to look up at him, amused.

"Semantic?"

"You're rubbin' off on me," he said, and arched a brow suggestively, "in more than the usual way. Been livin' with you too long."

"In twenty years, you'll be running for Senate," Leia teased.

"When it snows on Mustafar," Han growled, pausing to pinch her shoulder gently.

Leia shrugged him off with a short laugh, and shook her head, folding her arms in front of her loosely. She tapped her fingers against her elbows and shrugged, nodding with certainty.

"I am up for it," she said easily. "I don't think I have much lingering frailty, when it comes to - anything, really," she said. "It's all scar tissue. Tough, leathery scar tissue," she muttered.

"Not sayin' you're frail," Han said. "Jus' don't want you under any pressure to deal with her before you're ready," he explained. "I figure I put some of that pressure on you - "

"So you want to back down now, when we have her set to come to dinner in a few days?" Leia interrupted wryly.

Han pressed a sheepish kiss to the back of her head. He shrugged. Leia shifted a little, resting her shoulder back against the window so she could tilt her head, and look at him more easily.

"Rest easy," she soothed.

He shrugged again.

"I dunno, it's a new place," he said, gesturing one arm out roughly. "Yeah, it's important you meet her, so it stops bein' this lurking thing with you and Luke, but I guess it threw me off a little you wanted her to be one of the first we have over. Figured it'd be Bail or Winter."

"They've all been in and out and over here throughout the moving process," Leia said dismissively. "It's nothing new to them - housewarming doesn't have to be a grand affair."

"I don't want bad memories muckin' up this place right at the start," Han said warily.

"It's fitting, Han," she countered. "I don't want the first time I meet her to be at your retirement gala; I'd rather it be here," she explained, shifting again. He brought his leg up and stretched it out on the window seat, and she draped hers over it, leaning back into the window and facing them, her own legs twisted up and tangled in his lap, still bracing against his shoulder.

She shrugged, hesitating as she gathered her thoughts. She looked at Zozy for a moment - he had managed to pluck one of his feathers, and was smugly shaking it in his teeth, prancing back and forth around the room.

"Winter put it in a very simple way," she said. "Meeting Luke's girlfriend is a mild thing, really, in the grand scheme of it all," she said. "She has a past, and I have - I certainly have my hang-ups about it, and in some ways, I wonder if Luke's involvement is an extension of his trying to save Vader." Leia frowned, waving her hand - "Unfinished business, I mean. To hear him tell it, Vader returned to the light, but he died after a single good choice, and without time for rehabilitation of the soul - which I have my own opinions about," she trailed off darkly. "He loves her, though - that much I can see very clearly. And as warm and friendly as he is, I don't think Luke is cavalier with his heart in terms of romantic attachment so, for him - it's time I make the effort he has always made for me."

Han nodded, resting his palm on her thigh.

"It's liberating to decide not to give a damn what the political ramifications are," Leia noted. "If there are questions about her via the press' unholy fascination with the social and private lives of me and my family, they'll go unanswered for the sake of Luke's privacy and the apparatus can fuck off if they want to imply that by associating with a former assassin, I'm still on track to usurp a place of power in the galaxy as a new evil Empress."

Han snorted.

"That still a thing that's goin' around?"

"It always will be, on some front," Leia said dryly. She lifted her shoulders. "It's faded into the oblivion of things that have been said about me that don't hurt anymore," she murmured. "I'm a far cry from the Emperor and the things about me that are very much like Anakin Skywalker are tempered by the choices I make," she said confidently.

Leia was quiet for a moment.

"I'm not afraid of the dark side anymore, Han," she murmured simply. "It has no power that I refuse to give it."

Han kissed her behind her ear.

"I think that is precisely why I can confront it in Mara," Leia said. "I trust Luke's word, and Luke swears she's on a path of redemption and betterment and that she's never been one of those people who is just rotten at the core, so I should extend a hand of support to her, and to that process. It seems - hypocritical, even nonsensical, because I could never forgive Vader," Leia trailed off for a moment, pensive, her lips pressed tightly for a moment. "But perhaps in the back of my mind I see the inability to absolve him as a flaw in my capacity for compassion, and accepting Mara is a proxy for that."

She licked her lips.

"Something. I don't know. Or I'm tired of holding on to grudges and exacting punishment and I want to move forward in my personal and public politics - Sith knows I work with plenty of former Imperials, or Imperial sympathizers, that stayed in power out of sheer dumb luck, or out of Mon's fear of destabilizing certain systems with installment of new foreign leaders."

Her hands fidgeted in her lap, and she sighed.

"I've done the trials, the sentencing, the near-executions," she said, "maybe it's slowly becoming time for a gentler reconciliation, starting at the interpersonal level. The aftermath of the war is getting farther away, and holding the losers in a choke-hold forever will ensure it's passed down to children who never have the chance to know any better, and inevitably breed resentment potent enough to bring the democracy down on our heads again. I do not want to see a rehash of tyranny in my lifetime."

Han tilted his head at her, and Leia blew out air through her lips, arching her brows.

"Remove all the intricacies of it and the bottom line is I want my brother to be happy, and that's the core question of the choice I had to make when it comes to extending my hand to Mara, or not," she said bluntly. "I want him to have what I have."

She reached out to run her hand down Han's shoulder, and he looked at her intently, his jaw relaxed, and thoughtful. She smirked.

"Have I put you to sleep?" she asked.

"No," he grunted. "I was listenin' to all that," he insisted. "You know you got more compassion than most people I know," he added.

"It's one of the toughest traits to maintain," she admitted.

"Hardly does anyone any good," Han drawled, waving his hand vaguely at his back - where scars memorialized the consequences of his own compassion. His remark was tongue-in-cheek, however, and he sat forward, grinning at her lazily. "You amaze me, Sweetheart," he growled proudly.

"You caught me in a moment of bliss," she retorted. "I don't always feel so charitable towards the idea of her," she sniffed. "It's an intermittent struggle. Though there is a difference between an idea, and a flesh-and-blood woman."

"You're right," Han said bluntly, "and you got to do it for Luke. S'his turn."

"I very well may hate her still," Leia said mildly.

Han snorted - somehow, he doubted that when it was all said and done, Leia would hate the woman Luke had chosen to commit to, and Han was pretty sure the kid was committed, judging by subtle clues he picked up on, informed by his own experience. Luke was intelligent, empathetic, wise for his age - his best quality was that he had shed his naivete without losing his optimism and kindness, and Han firmly believed that, regardless of any sordid past she may possess, any woman who held his heart, and whom he respected and esteemed, was worth it, and was noble, in some way or another.

"That would be a hell of a hurdle to navigate," Leia snorted to herself, lifting her hand to bite at her fingernail. "Considering Luke's apt to marry her."

"You think?" Han asked.

Leia gave him a smug, knowing look, and said nothing else - she hated to call herself an oracle, but she had a feeling, and so much more often these days, she trusted her feelings.

Zozy scampered over, feather poking out of his mouth, and aggressively nudged both Leia's and Han's legs, staring at them expectantly. Leia lunged forward and took the feather from his mouth, holding it in her palm, and then blowing it into the air. Zozy caught it, pleased, and darted off to entertain himself again, this time trotting out into the hall.

"He's going to get lost again," Leia sang.

"Good," Han retorted.

"Why do you insist on acting like you dislike Zozy? You brought him home," Leia teased, leaning forward with her lips pursed - she eyed Han closely, daring him to lie to her. He said nothing, and pointedly ignored her glare, until she relented, and leaned back a bit. "If nothing else, meeting Mara prior to her public appearance with Luke affords me the luxury of arming myself well against whispers, questions, et cetera," she said coolly. "Though if anything detracts more than an iota of attention from you, there will be hell to pay."

Han groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically - Leia looped her hand arm through his, and smirked. At the end of the day, his retirement ceremony was to be fairly low-key, and befittingly Han Solo. Leia had been correct in assuming that the elites of the New Republic - all still the old guard that had been leaders of the Rebellion - wanted Han's service recognized and awarded appropriately; even those who disliked his scurrilous background, and his elevation of status via marriage to Leia, felt he deserved significant honors. She had arranged it so that the posh, stiff-necked military traditions were honored in that there was to be a brief Corellian-style honor ceremony, followed by a banquet and gala in the loosest sense of the words - and the guest list was strictly vetted, and much more geared towards personal guests than any political invitees.

"You'll enjoy it," Leia assured him smugly. "Think less charity fundraiser, more...our wedding reception."

"Hmm," Han grunted. "That mean you're gonna sit on my lap, drink a little too much champagne...?"

"It's a fair bet that your terribly effective soldiering has earned you an hour or so of your wife on your lap at the gala," Leia agreed - champagne, well, we'll see, she thought to herself.

"All I want is Jan to give me a curtsy," Han said seriously.

"You hate when aristocrats and other officials give you deference," Leia countered pointedly - Han had never quite gotten used to the protocols that demanded he be bowed to, or in some other way feted, by association with Leia's title.

"Yeah," Han agreed mildly, "'cept when I know it's the ones who hate doin' it 'cause it's me," he gloated.

Leia smiled primly, and he looked her up and down appreciatively.

"You picked a gown yet?"

Leia gave him a stern look.

"You know the rules."

Han made a whining noise. He knew, from experience, that when Leia became secretive about a particular gown, it generally meant the ensemble in question was going to make a wreck of him, and the anticipation made her tactic all the more delightfully frustrating. He'd never had as much of a liking for evening wear until he met Leia, but she had a way of wearing it - always choosing styles that flattered her to a perfect fault - that almost made him prefer Leia clad in gowns to Leia naked.

He leaned over to kiss her, reaching up to cup her jaw in his hand and press her back into the window a little. Leia's hands moved over his arms to his shoulders, snuggling closer, tilting her head into the kiss. From down the hall - perhaps even down the stairs - they both heard Zozy start chirping, loud and insistent, with a curious edge to the tone. Han turned his head around moodily, and shot a glare at the doorway.

"He found an empty room," Leia whispered impishly.

Han nodded, extricating himself a little - preparing once again to embark on a Zozy rescue expedition.

"I suppose we ought to fill them," she sighed, shrugging lightly, and Han grinned in agreement as he stood, rolling his shoulders to stretch out his neck and back. He looked down at her for a moment, wordless; his brow furrowed tightly, lips fixed in a small, unreadable frown. Leia arched her eyebrows under the scrutiny, a little indignant, thinking him somehow - suddenly, inexplicably - dissatisfied with her, until he shook himself a little, and cleared his throat.

"You look good," he said huskily, a hint, the barest hint, of consternation in his voice - she looked no different than usual, other than the fact that she looked - so good, there in the window. It may have been the sun, or the unbridled contentment she was obviously feeling. "Real good," he added.

Leia arched a brow.

"Don't I always?" she flirted.

Han shrugged, bending to kiss the corner of her mouth.

"S'different," he mumbled, half to himself, before he straightened, touched her lightly under the chin, and turned on his heel with a grumble, following the sounds of Zozy's blithely investigative chirping.

Leia turned to look out the window again, breathing in deeply. She reached for the latches on the window, and opened it slightly to let in soft gusts of air, blinking when it rushed over her face and whipped up flyaway strands of hair. The garden box just outside the window - it was certainly a good place to sow the seeds Tavska had given her, and the room was the right place for arallutes in a shadowbox; it would not be long at all before she could confirm her suspicions, and if - when - she did, it would timing so pristine she was almost giddy; an alignment of stars the likes of which she hadn't experienced since she snatched the Death Star schematics from the Empire's iron fist.

---

Luke Skywalker was presently muddling through one of the greatest challenges of his - still relatively – young life, that being living, for the first time, with a woman he was in quite the serious, committed relationship with. Or rather – sharing quarters for an extended period of time – or – well, he was not particularly keen on how he should be defining their current situation; Mara had arrived on Coruscant some weeks ago, somewhat far in advance of her inaugural meeting with Leia.

He had welcomed that arrival; their relationship was so firmly rooted in long-distances, travel, periodic separations – put simply, it was fraught with unconventional norms, and Luke liked the idea of something purer, something like this – having her around day and night, accessible, and there to merely sit with, or talk to about things mundane or nonsensical.

Not that Mara had interest in many topics that were nonsensical, or so he had thought, until precisely an hour and a half ago, when he had come home to his usually fashion-averse girlfriend standing damn near naked in his sitting room, critically examining a slew of evening gowns.

Luke had spent the better part of his time home attempting to navigate how he was supposed to react to this uncommon behavior – offer to help, ignore it, intervene, laugh - he had asked her what the hell she was doing, and been treated to the crisp, icy remark of –

"I would think that is obvious, Lu."

- at which point he retreated into the back bedroom to have a 'fresher, as he'd been out rooting around in the rubble of a destroyed sector on one of the lower levels, having heard it was once a hidden laboratory for Jedi sciences.

He thought it obvious that she was selecting a dress; however, the more he lingered on it, the more he wasn't exactly sure what she was doing at all – he'd never seen Mara wear a dress, though he supposed she'd worn them at court events when she served the Emperor. In fact, the idea of Mara in a dress seemed ludicrous, though he was world-wise enough not to tell her that.

She had seemed restless, her tone irritable, and he focused intently on reading her emotions, which she seemed amenable to, as she wasn't shielding them. Among the many things there were to get used to in terms of co-habitation was how much he should afford her privacy, and when, and where – he figured he could ask, but then he was unsure if she considered them to be living together, and didn't want to attack her with that conversation too soon.

As it were, he was standing idly in his kitchen, peering warily into the living area where she was sitting on the sofa, a dark, thoughtful expression on her face. Her lip was drawn into her teeth, and her hair tumbled wildly over both shoulders, and she was wearing nothing more than plain black underwear and a red bra, an ensemble that had Luke caught in a painful circuit of mental gymnastics as he tried to figure out if he had the luxury of appreciating her looks, because she was here, and available, or if he ought to keep his eyes to himself and leave her be as this was her home, too, right now, and she might not want the attention.

He was still parsing that out – he might have to ask Han about certain finer details of living with a woman – when Mara turned her head and gave him a sharp look.

"I've never been faced with such a difficult decision, and I've killed multiple people on warrants of questionable morality," she said bluntly.

Luke raised his eyebrows.

Mara flicked her wrist and waved her hand around, gesturing to the gowns – Luke had no idea where they had all come from; he certainly didn't have them lying around in the closet. It wasn't as if she could have rummaged around and found them, like a stray sock or brassier that might have been left from another woman – Luke was almost positive he'd never slept with someone who wore an evening gown. Except Gaerial Captison, but he had stayed at her place.

His eyes lifted a little as he followed that train of thought, distracted for a moment.

Mara pointed to a sunset-coloured gown.

"I bought that on Paxer's Row. It cost as much as Xizor Sizhran once paid me to seduce – "

"Mara," Luke griped.

"Oh, right. I forgot."

"I'd prefer you break the habit of comparing the cost of things to your contract kills and contract escapades before you blithely do it at Leia's dinner table and come out with the name of one of her old friends."

Mara pressed her lips together, humming softly.

"I've never murdered an Alderaanian," she muttered. She lifted her chin, standing to go examine the sequined beading on a white gown, a frown etched on her face.

Luke watched her bend over, and closed his eyes, lifting his head to the ceiling. He turned to take a carbonated juice from his icebox.

"Why aren't you wearing clothes?" he asked.

"I've been trying on various gowns all evening," Mara retorted, folding her arms and turning around.

She blinked at him for a moment, and Luke raised his juice, silently asking her if she wanted one. She shook her head, silently demurring, and jerked her head, indicating he should come closer. Luke did, and she moved closer to give him a kiss on the corner of his mouth, her body briefly molding into his side as she pressed close and welcomed him with a hug.

Luke slid an arm around her waist briefly, squeezed her tightly, and kissed her cheek, closing his eyes and smiling.

"You've been trying on gowns?" he repeated, a bit smugly.

He sat down on the sofa and leaned back, stretching one leg out to nudge her ankle.

"Have you been possessed?" he snorted.

Mara folded her arms coolly, and faced him; more intimidating in nothing but underwear and pale skin than any fully armored soldier Luke had ever faced in combat. He hid his smirk a little, and tried to look innocent. Satisfied with that reaction, Mara turned back to the host of dresses.

"I dislike dresses," she remarked caustically. "Difficult to run in – the train always tangles up in your feet."

"I hate when that happens," Luke said seriously.

"A man's invention," Mara went on, "created to make it harder for women to run away – heels, too."

"You don't own a single pair of flat boots, Mara," Luke reminded her.

"My boots don't have heels, they have concealed razors," she retorted.

Luke arched his brows. He shrugged.

"I've seen Leia run in a dress. Fight in one, too," he said.

"I doubt it's her armor of choice," Mara sniffed, throwing a look over her shoulder. She jutted her knee out and pointed at a red dress.

"You like that colour?" she asked.

"For what?" Luke asked.

"For a dress, Luke, what does it look like?"

Luke gave her an alarmed look.

"A dress for what?" he amended, exasperated. "To meet Leia? You don't have to wear a dress, it's just dinner - at her apartment – why would you – she won't be wearing a dress," he protested.

"Not for dinner," Mara fired back, "for this gala," she said the word as if it were entirely unfamiliar to her, "for Solo's retirement."

The necessity of the gowns clicked into place – but Luke still looked at her with some consternation.

"You're going to wear a dress?" he asked. "I figured you'd just wear one of those jumpsuits you have, the sleek ones, with the capes."

Mara gave him a withering look. She stepped back, and sat down on the sofa, leaning back to rest her elbow on the backrest, and glare at Luke intently.

"Dresses are worn to galas," she said tightly, "that much, I learned at the court – and I would prefer not to stand out at this event," she said.

Luke gave a noncommittal mumble.

"I intend to respect the nature of the thing," Mara went on.

Luke lifted his hand to sip his drink, unsure of exactly what was coming. He furrowed his brow, feeling oddly nervous, and then turned his head, looking her up and down, then wincing, and looking back up at her face, his neck flushed.

"Am I allowed to look at you?" he asked dryly.

She arched a brow.

"Are you – what?"

Luke nodded at her.

"You're not wearing anything, it's very – alluring," he told her, "but I was unsure if it wasn't for me right now, you know, while you're doing your own thing."

Mara gave him a funny look.

"You can look at me whenever you want," she said, snorting.

Luke frowned stubbornly.

"It's just, I know women don't always look alluring for men," he said. Dansra Beezer had told him that once, while complaining in a fury that some of the men in her cadre seemed to think that when she exercised in minimal clothing, it was for their benefit, rather than because she was trying not to get overheated in the summer.

"You respect is duly noted," Mara said, rolling her eyes. "Stop saying 'alluring' and focus your intelligent empathy on the subject at hand."

Luke bit back a whine – he had no experience with the subject at hand; for events such as these, either Rouge told him what to wear, or he showed up in his signature robes, a bit dusty, but looking presentable enough – as presentable, if not more so, than Han, in most cases.

"I don't have any intelligent empathy about this subject," Luke said slowly. "I don't even know – what this subject is," he added in a mumble, exasperated again.

"My dress for the retirement gala," Mara growled.

She tossed her hair, and looked around, her eyes lingering on a black dress – she was very fond of the black dress; it was the first she'd found, and what she originally intended to go with, until her recently returned conscience, teaming up with a sense of femininity and insecurity she thought she had long since murdered, had induced her to instead go on a shopping spree expensive enough to feed a family of moisture farmers for perhaps half a year.

"I shouldn't wear black, I assume," Mara said curtly.

Luke said nothing,

"White?"

Luke arched his eyebrows slightly, but still said nothing.

"I suppose white might come off as mocking," Mara drawled slowly, her eyes narrowing.

She turned her head, glaring at him yet again.

"Any input, Lu?" she demanded dangerously. "She's your sister."

Luke's eyes twitched, as he'd been trying, quite aggressively, to deflect this conversation, or at least avoid being directly asked for input. He shrugged.

"Mara, you were the Emperor's personal assassin. Don't act like you can't dress yourself."

He felt her glare narrowing, and winced to himself. He wondered if Leia ever harassed Han about what she should wear, and then decided that was likely a hard no. Han was probably smart enough to give one dumb suggestion one single time, and Leia never asked him again.

Though, he also supposed Leia had been specifically trained in dressing herself for these kind of events since about the time she could walk by herself, and that might well be getting under Mara's skin.

"What colour would you suggest?" Mara asked narrowly.

Luke turned to look at her dryly, and appraised her, thinking it over.

"Pink," he suggested flippantly, saying so more to give an answer, than out of any real preference or opinion.

Mara looked at him as if he'd said the most idiotic thing she had ever heard.

"Skywalker," she snapped. "I'm a redhead."

With that, she got up, and retreated to the back bedroom, and Luke let out a sigh of relief, shaking his head as he tipped back his drink to finish it – the pressure of that conversation had somehow dehydrated him, and elevated his blood pressure, which was amusing in some ways, and –

He quickly lowered his juice when she came back in, having put on one of his t-shirts and tied her hair back into a loose, messy tail. She stretched her arms out, and collapsed on the sofa again, curling one leg up and facing him, her lips pursed tensely. She held up one hand, and gestured to her face stiffly.

"My complexion does not allow for pinks, yellows, or," she hesitated, "lavenders," she decided dryly, eyeing Luke sharply. "Take note."

He nodded, arching one brow. He glanced at his juice, and then leaned forward to set it on the floor next to his feet, folding his arms as he rested back again.

"It's not like you to stress over what to wear," he pointed out flatly. "It's eerie."

She sighed, her lips pursing again – and Luke figured she was hyper focused on this as a way to distract herself from the more pressing matter of their upcoming one-on-one – or, to be more accurate, couple-on-couple – dinner with Leia and Han. The intimacy of her first meeting with Leia – who she had expressed vocal aversion to on multiple occasions, for one reason or another – was a far more imposing prospect than blending in to a multitude at a raucous party for the infamous Han Solo's retirement.

"The majority of what makes up a first impression is aesthetic," Mara said levelly. "I am attempting to strike a balance between losing myself, in bending over backwards to impress or charm your sister, and exercising a respectful amount of deference to the fact that she has real reason to be put off by my background."

Luke nodded, shrugging a little.

"That's fair - I appreciate that, and I've no doubt she will," he said. "When it comes to fashion, though, I've never seen Leia be...catty," he said slowly, wincing at his own terminology. "I mean, I've seen her verbally eviscerate someone who denigrated another Senator's gown, but I've never seen her judge someone's character on their outfit choice."

Mara sniffed.

"I'd rather not be gawked at, either, if I appear out of place," she muttered, introversion showing itself - she was used to a behind the scenes sort of life, and she was well aware she might be an object of interest or fascination at a public event, particularly as Luke, despite his healthy involvement with women in private, had not ever attended an event with an official date.

Luke hesitated, and then began again:

"You don't have to charm Leia," he said. "Or bend over backwards. She chose to be open to this. She made that decision, and when she makes decisions, she's very firm," he said. "It's not as if she's being dragged to the table kicking and screaming, she's making her own effort for my sake, and for my reasons - as she should," he noted firmly, "and Leia's surprisingly good at suppressing personal biases in moments where she knows she needs to exercise extreme caution to be objective."

Luke snorted.

"That is her job, after all."

Mara made a rather noncommittal noise.

"I don't think she wants to hate you," Luke reflected mildly. "Leia's - wary of the idea that she might not like someone I love, but she's not on a mission to hate you. Her initial reaction, and her adjustment to the idea - that's not totally uncalled for, not unnatural. That she's made an effort to overcome - "

"And if she does hate me?" Mara interrupted. "If she can't get past - my past?"

Her expression was hard, and Luke didn't begrudge her that, because he knew her question had multiple layers of complexity. It wasn't just a wary, apprehensive – what if your sister hates me? It was – what will you do, if your sister hates me? It demanded an answer in the fairest of ways, because Mara had taken more emotional risks than she had ever taken in her life with Luke, and though his philosophies on the Light would likely stick with her forever, she couldn't imagine how she would feel if he was given an ultimatum by the one other woman who held his respect and esteem as highly as Mara did – and who had come before Mara.

It was sometimes odd, to fancy herself in competition with his blood relative, but that was the crux of it, sometimes; Luke obviously had no romantic inclinations towards Leia, but his family bond was damn near invincible – a result of having for so long searched for answers regarding family, and for so long feeling lost and only partially complete.

Luke did not hesitate, so much as consider her thoughtfully – because he had to be fair to the both of them in acknowledging –

"I think that would be unimaginably painful," he said quietly, "to have it all come to a head and that be the result," he said honestly – and it would be; if after all the healing and recovery Leia had gone through, and the arguments and philosophical differences their relationship as brother and sister had suffered to get to this point, where she was willing and eager, in some subtle way, to meet his girlfriend – that would feel like failure, and he couldn't imagine it.

Luke swallowed hard.

"I don't know what to say definitively about what I'd do if Leia hates you," he said. "I've never been in any situation like that, except, maybe," he trailed off, trying to think, trying to compare it. "Well, she hates Vader, yet she still has a relationship with me – but he's dead. Uhh," Luke paused. "There was a brief period where she maintained pretty loudly and aggressively that she hated Han, but she still was nice to me and put up with me being friends with – "

Mara was giving him a withering look.

Luke flushed.

"Fine, she never hated Han," he amended. "She did hate being around him, though."

"Well I doubt you want this to go the same direction that did," Mara pointed out.

"Yeah, please don't sleep with my sister."

Mara shrugged.

"She's not my type."

Luke snorted.

"At the very least, she politely and effectively works with people she dislikes in the Senate all the time," he said logically.

Mara sighed, her head rolling back against the sofa.

"Yes," she murmured. "That sort of diplomacy does not work within the confines of family, Luke – I don't know much about family, but that much is painfully obvious; it's just common sense. Think of the strain it would put on her, on me, on your relationships with both of us – "

"I am thinking of that strain; I get it," Luke said flatly. "There was dissonance enough when Ruwee Naberrie and Bail Organa were essentially firm in their resentment of the other, and that lasted a mere handful of days."

He sat forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees, and rubbing his jaw tensely, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"The issue with this is – I have hope. I'm optimistic," he said honestly. "I don't think she's going to hate you, not when it comes down to it – and I'm narcissistic enough to think that at least some of that is her being unable to hate someone she knows I admire. And Mara, I've told you before, you'll like her – I know you will."

He ran a hand back through his hair, and shrugged.

"I can't unilaterally declare how I'm going to feel, or what I'm going to do, if the verdict is that Leia hates Mara Jade," he said bluntly, his expression softening earnestly, "but – I can tell you her feelings won't ever make me hate you," he said quietly.

He leaned back, and leaned over, reaching up to place his hand on her shoulder. He slid it up her neck, to her jaw, and to her cheek, his fingers slipping into her wild mane of loosely pulled back hair, picking strands out slowly.

"Mara, you're my whole world," he said intently. "You're my private calling. You're the iconic love story," he laughed gently. "People love more than one person in their life, sure, but everyone only has one that's good enough for the history books."

He tilted his head.

"It would be devastating to have something separating two significant aspects of my life," he said honestly. "I don't know how I'd navigate it. It might kill me. Losing you would kill me," he said. "If anything, you'd leave me over the stress of having to muddle through a nightmare like that, but I am not – I will not - give you up for Leia's comfort."

He smiled, arching his eyebrows.

"You're my comfort."

Mara's lashes fluttered, and she closed her eyes, tilting her head closer to rest her forehead against his jaw. She took a deep breath, silent in the wake of his words – generally, Luke wasn't so effusive; despite how aggressively forthcoming she was – with him – with her own emotions regarding their relationship, he was often less verbose, and more contemplative; hesitant even.

"It doesn't ease your stress at all that I have a good feeling about this?" Luke murmured.

"In general, I trust your feelings," Mara murmured, "but this time, they involve the complexity of someone else's, and that I cannot trust."

Luke nodded, and moved closer, sliding his arm behind her shoulder for a hug – that, he supposed, was fair. Leia had plenty of mercurial moments, and plenty of instances of unpredictability, but he was calm, and resolute, in his faith in her to come around. She had approached him; she had taken it upon herself to ask if he might like to bring Mara to Han's retirement party, and if Mara would be interested in meeting her. Luke had very minimally questioned her motives, but he sensed they were pure, and determined, if a little hesitant.

He might feel less confident if he had pestered Leia, and cajoled her, and made demands that she reach out to Mara, but that was not the case – and furthermore, Luke had pressured her regarding the Naberries, and that had turned out well in the end. The dynamic here was different, given Mara's intimate connection to the inner circle of Imperial power, yet Leia seemed to have taken to heart some of the things Luke argued in Mara's favor – that she had faced a difference in privilege, and had come to seize responsibility for her past actions, and detach herself from the darkness.

At the core, Mara's story was a survivor's story, a combat soldier's story, one of impossible odds, deeply painful self-assessment, and reckoning with a haunted past – and if nothing else that Luke was sure Leia could relate to.

---

There was little left to do but wait, and the act of waiting alone could sometimes prove a risky business. Given her experiences in the past - waiting, just waiting for something to happen, whether it be a political decision, a decisive battle, or her own execution - Leia knew that the simple psychological effect of anticipating a thing could tie a person in knots, make her anxious, sour, manic, jumpy, catatonic - all, or none, of the above, depending. She was, currently, as she waited for Luke to arrive for dinner, Mara in tow - or rather, alongside him as an equal, Leia was sure she was no meek woman - attempting to linger somewhere in the realm of cool, collected and, if anxious, quietly so. She strove to maintain an internal equilibrium that managed her understandable anxiety over meeting this woman, yet allowed her to still project the sort of unshaken, icy grace she was somewhat infamous for in the Senate.

Icy was perhaps the wrong word. She did not particularly intend to come off as icy - she was merely so accustomed to being referred to as icy, cold, unemotional, or some other variant that she often considered her public demeanor that way without much thought. She had fluctuated over the years, alternately being intensely bothered by others' perceiving her as emotionless and hard, and finding it safer that they considered her that way - stronger, even. Recently, she cared less altogether, not because she had lost interest in the presentation of her public self, but because she knew that no one would ever truly know her the way her close friends and family did, and while perception mattered to a certain extent - for the purposes of political success - popularity was suggestive, and the vast majority would think and believe what they wanted to believe about her, facts be damned.

More aptly, she wanted to make a good - welcoming - impression on Mara without simpering; she wanted to comport herself confidently, without surrendering to some wary tendencies she had regarding the meeting, and Mara's background. She was conscious that she was factoring in a significant amount of political foresight and power strategies into this very personal meeting, yet she couldn't help it - it was part self-preservation, and part a need to assert herself as accepting, yes, but with justifiable reservations. She was sure - at least she hoped - that some of the same mental gymnastics were going on in Mara's head. From some of the more subtle things Luke had said, Leia knew his girlfriend - that term seemed so juvenile, and simplistic, when applied to adults, and attempting to encompass the complexities of relationships - had her own reservations, steeped in insecurities and bitterness, about the meeting.

Leia wanted to be - warm, and personable, but fair, and appropriately reserved - a posture she was having an unusually difficult time pulling together, as it brought back memories of the way she'd acted around her father when he had first returned, more like a cordial acquaintance than a daughter. Things were different now - she was better, emotionally, and Luke functioned as the perfect sort of social lubrication, kind and effusive as he was, yet she still had her qualms - and on top of that, she was plagued - or rather, blessed - with a simmering, soul-deep, content triumph, a feeling she hadn't yet spoken aloud about. It was expressing itself in an elevated mood, and a tendency to smile more than usual, and that burgeoning effervescence - fairly unusual in Leia - was a benefit, in that it made her feel forgiving, and hopeful, and a drawback, in that it was hampering her ability to remain at least marginally aloof.

With Zozy perched on his haunches on the 'fresher sink - he was clingy, and anxious, because he sensed he was about to be locked in the bedroom - she checked her reflection a final time, reviewing herself. She had chosen an understated look - muted make-up, save for mascara, which she always favored dark - her hair pulled into a crisp, high tail with a complex braid wrapped around it as the fastener, and finely curled wisps 'escaping' in a fixed way. She was barefoot - it was her own home, after all - and dressed in comfortable white leather leggings, and a high-necked, sleeveless violet blouse; it was relaxed from her ostentatious senate wear, though not completely so, and the combination of her signature colour, white, with a darker, louder colour seemed to fit appropriately.

Zozy twitched his tail, and lifted his snout, presenting her with a feather he'd evidently plucked from his tail. His ears twitched happily, though a little suspicious, as he offered the gift, and Leia took it, wrinkling her nose affectionately and bending forward to give him a kiss between the eyes. She examined the feather - it was one of his bluer ones, for now, though they all faded to an opal white after molting. She tilted her head at it and Zozy pawed at her, drawing a smile.

"You still have to say in the bedroom," she warned, clicking her tongue - she had thought it might be acceptable to confine him to the upper level of the penthouse, but Han had forgotten to buy a gate to fix at the top of the stairs, so the master bedroom would be Zozy's domain for the night. Leia was respectful of others in regards to her beloved pet - she had no idea what Mara's animal proclivities were, and so she wouldn't loose the mooka on her immediately.

Zozy whined at her skeptically, at least pretending he understood.

She set the feather aside for later - she was collecting them for pillows - and leaned forward to draw a nail under her eye, wiping away flecks of mascara she imagined were there. Han came into the 'fresher behind her, placing his hands on her hips to hold her still as he moved past and flung open one of the cabinets. He rummaged around for a minute, glancing at her, and then sort of picked something up, put it back down, and glanced at her again as he started to shut the little door.

Leia flicked her eyes up at him through her lashes, her lips turning up in a little bit of amusement.

"Need something?" she asked lightly.

He gave a vague shrug.

"Looking for something?" she prodded, cocking an eyebrow. "An excuse to check on me?"

Han folded his arms and gave her a withering look.

"Well, why're you in here takin' so long?" he retorted sheepishly. "I poured you a glass of wine half an hour ago."

"I didn't ask you to," Leia said mildly. She stepped back from the sink and cocked her hip against it, smiling. "I'm alright, Han, I was just looking at myself," she said honestly. She reached up and touched a tendril of the hair framing her face. "This one wouldn't stay curled right."

"Hmm," Han grumbled. "I thought you'd changed your mind about all this and crawled under the bed to hide."

"That's preposterous. I'd hide in a closet."

He grinned, and unfolded his arms, stepping forward and running his hands over her shoulders. He looked past her, meeting her eyes in the mirror, and then bent to press a kiss to her shoulder, her neck, and her cheek.

"This colour looks nice on you," he murmured, brushing his nose against her cheek. "Like your hair like this," he added, drawing a hand up to her hair and brushing the loose edges of it with his fingers. He tugged gently on it. "It's easy to grip."

"Behave," Leia admonished.

"C'mon," he coaxed. "Come have this drink. Take the edge off."

She tossed her head a little, pursing her lips. She hesitated, and then shook her head.

"I want the edge," she demurred - she also wasn't keen on alcohol in the first couple of weeks; Dr. Mellis wasn't a purist, but last time she had mentioned to wait until the latter months, and then have red wine, only sparingly.

She looked at him through her lashes, biting her lip, struck again with the urge to just blurt it out, then and there. She was positive now, and she felt a promising sort of attachment, a peaceful surety that she wasn't sure she'd had - last time. She had stumbled through the new instincts related to her first pregnancy with uncertainty and confused understanding, but now things were clearer, and she could define a stark difference; whereas with her first, she had realized she was pregnant, but the connection to her sensitivity had been too new for her to understand things deeply or implicitly - now she had more clarity. She was satisfied that this was going to take - yet still, she waited a bit, wanting to embrace that good feeling for a little longer before she let him in - and the timing coincided too well with his upcoming celebration for her to waste a memorable time to tell him.

Han kissed her cheek again and shrugged, straightening. He swept Zozy off the counter - with a mild scowl that he'd been there in the first place - and carried him into the bedroom, placing him sternly on their bed.

"You behave," Leia heard him growl, as she tapped the censor to turn the lights off in the 'fresher, and followed him out.

"S'gonna be fun," Han said loudly, pushing his hand over Zozy's rump to make him sit, preventing him from trying to get off the bed - again. "I never had a kid brother to give a hard time about his girl, so Luke's in for it," he snorted to himself. He shot Leia a wicked smirk. "Any time it starts gettin' awkward or tense, I can just bring up some embarrassing thing he did and distract everyone."

Leia arched her brows, amused.

"I hope for Luke's sake, it doesn't come to that," she remarked.

Han shrugged cheerily, pointing menacingly at Zozy.

"I'm gonna tell the stories anyway," he decided. "Sit. Stay," he ordered. "Don't spend all night makin' that chirpin' noise that makes it sound like we torture you."

Zozy chirped loudly at Han, and Han gave him an offended, incredulous look.

"What did I just say?"

Leia started laughing, and took Han's elbow, dragging him away, as Zozy wagged his tail and hopped around on the bed blithely. She pushed him out the door, shutting it behind them, and tilted her head.

"You are quite the disciplinarian," she teased. She jerked her head at the door. "Any children we have are going to rule you like," she floundered, looking for an idiom.

"Princess?" Han supplied dryly, cocking a brow. "I'll put the fear of god in them."

Leia snorted, shaking her head as they turned to head down to the lower level.

"You sound like my father," she retorted, "telling Winter if she ever snuck into the sauna pools after hours again he'd show her what the wrath of the heavens was," Leia laughed, listening to Han grumbling - "She asked him to specify what god, from what planet, would be scaring her, as she'd know better then if she could take it seriously."

Han nudged by her indignantly.

"You wait, Sweetheart," he said seriously. "We'll see who's the pushover."

Leia gave his back a mildly amused look, fairly confident it was unlikely to be her - but then again, her own father had stood firm against oppression and powerful leaders for many, many years, and then come home and completely bungled his way through stern fatherhood, leaving most of the sharper rebukes to Breha, or governesses. It was, as it turned out, highly effective - Leia expected her mother to be the kind, soft spoken one; on the rare occasions when Breha got sharp, Leia knew she had immensely messed up; and likewise, when Bail suppressed his authoritative political demeanor for that of soft, kind father, Leia had known she was much more important to him than those he presided over in the public arena.

At the foot of the stairs, she paused to see if she could hear Zozy. He wasn't making any sound yet, but he likely would when he sensed other people were here. She inhaled the scent of whatever Han was cooking - something spicy, mouthwatering - and paused, deciding whether she wanted to go into the living room, or venture into the kitchen to bug him while he cooked.

She chose the latter.

"Need an assistant?" she asked.

"Do you want them to like dinner?" Han retorted.

Leia jutted her elbow out to dig it into his ribs, and smiled a little when she spotted the lone glass of wine that he'd left on the bar - one she wouldn't be drinking. She caught her tongue between her teeth, and shuffled around behind Han, peering around him at the various items simmering on the stove before she eased back to watch him.

"Here, taste that," Han directed, plucking a rare piece of meat out of a skillet and turning to hand it to her. "Is that too spicy?"

"Is there such a thing?" Leia asked, obliging him. She closed her eyes at the taste - a really genius blend of the best Corellian spices.

"I never thought so, until your dad acted like those kebabs Coronet City style were poisoning him," Han snorted - and Coronet City styles were generally the mildest in terms of spice, as it was the city with the most tourists to cater to.

She shook her head, swallowing.

"It's good," she decided. "Something tells me she's not the type to have a weak palate."

"Are you saying Bail does have a weak palate?" Han asked with a grin.

"Well, he didn't exactly have the benefit of becoming inured to the finer aspects of Corellian spice after weeks on end of Corellian meals-ready-to-eat," she muttered, thinking of the trip to Bespin.

"We're still talking about food, right?" Han drawled slyly.

"Scoundrel," Leia said flippantly.

Han wiped his hands on his trousers and turned to her, eyeing her for a moment.

"Seems like you're in a good mood," he said gruffly. He waved his hand dramatically at her. "Y'know, in a good - mental state, 'bout this."

"I am always in a fantastic mood," Leia protested, deadpan.

Han gave her a nervous little laugh, arching a brow, and she beamed, rubbing one bare foot against the other.

"I...am," she said, shrugging. "I thought, maybe, that my optimistic outlook might fade, or I'd waver on this, but," she shook her head. "It needs to happen, and I'm - prepared."

"Excited?"

"That's a stretch," Leia admitted.

Han leaned back against the stove, careful to tuck his shirt closer to him so it didn't get near an open flame. He rested his hands behind him, tapping thumbs against the counter.

"I'm excited," he said bluntly. "Meet the gal who's got Luke all tied down?" He snorted. "That's somethin'." He smirked. "'Sides, isn't she the one who tried to kill Lando? I got to shake her hand."

"Han," Leia said, rolling her eyes. "You and Lando are friends."

"Yeah," Han agreed. "Still funny when people try to kill him," he joked.

She rolled her eyes again, and then pursed her lips ruefully.

"Tied Luke down," she quoted. "It's still odd for me to imagine Luke as a," she paused.

Han eyed her gleefully.

"Slut," he supplied.

"Not a slut," Leia said narrowly. "I'd be furious if you called Winter a slut."

"I don't mean it derogatory. It's funny when you call a guy a slut."

"It shouldn't be," Leia retorted. "It can't be funny for you and derogatory for us."

Han frowned.

"Okay - I. Yeah, sorry," he agreed. "Point taken." He hesitated thoughtfully. "Sexual butterfly," he decided, smirking roguishly.

Leia made a face. Han laughed.

"It always seemed contradictory. He's so reserved. He's never been," Leia shot Han a look. "Like you."

"Me?" Han pointed to himself.

"Aggressively, publicly, sexual," Leia accused. "Luke never asked women what they were wearing under their snowsuits."

"I genuinely needed to know if you were warm enough, Leia," Han insisted, grinning in spite of himself.

"Mmhmm," she murmured knowingly. "What I mean is - he never projected his sexuality or his interest in women, so finding out he was so cavalier with his personal life was always - odd."

Han shrugged.

"Most'a that's him respectin' their privacy, bein' on military bases in close quarters and all," he said seriously. "A lot of it's probably him, y'know, kind of not bein' able to be wild in other ways, 'cause of all his responsibility, and the Force, so he tried to keep things light and unattached in that area, 'cause it's harder to be emotionally involved."

Leia looked at him intently.

"Which is how you wanted to appear," she murmured. "As if all your entanglements were light, and unattached."

Han snorted.

"Most of 'em weren't."

"I know," Leia said promptly. "Good strategy, though," she teased. "Making me think you weren't serious enough for me to risk my affections on. It really went well for you."

"You know me," Han said, deadpan. "Insecure. Couldn't give away too much. Didn't have a damn clue what was goin' on in your head."

"Well," Leia sighed diplomatically. "Neither did I."

She smiled, nostalgic, and lifted her chin a little.

"The woman who tied Luke down," she murmured. Her brow furrowed. "What do you think she thinks of me?" she asked quietly. She knew how she felt about Mara, obviously; so did Han and, to a lesser extent, Winter and Luke. Yet other than a brief conversation she'd had with Luke last year about Mara's reluctance to associate, she had no clear understanding of the other woman's opinion, political or private.

Han grunted.

"She gets all her information from Luke, and he thinks you're the best thing that's ever happened to the galaxy," he pointed out. "She'd have to try to have a negative opinion."

Leia laughed shortly.

"There's the press," she said, thinking of all the people who deliberately developed negative opinions, based on that alone.

"Yeah, there's that," Han said dismissively, using his tone to tacitly indicate how much credit he gave the press when it came to illustration her personality, and how much store he'd set by anyone who formed their opinion based on that.

"What would you think of me, if you only had the media narrative?" she asked curiously.

"Can't be that objective," Han said honestly. "I dunno. I know you."

Leia arched a brow.

"What did you think of me the first time you met me, knowing little else?"

"Dunno if that's a fair representation, we were all about to die."

She gave him a demanding look, and Han returned it with a lopsided grin.

"Loud, annoying, rude," he started listing. "Kinda cute - "

Leia lunged forward to shake him, stopping a little at the last, and their door chimes sang as she stopped moving, leaving Han to straighten up and give her a pointed look.

"Guess we'll find out what she thinks," he said.

Leia let her hands fall to her sides somewhat lamely, nodding. She set her shoulders, turned, and then furrowed her brow, and turned back.

"Should we both go to the door? Or is that intimidating?" she asked.

"How intimidating do you think we are?" Han snorted.

"Han, that Senate intern from Chandrila cried when she met you," Leia reminded him.

"That's because I'm so good lookin', and I don't think Mara's here for that."

Leia rolled her eyes. She chewed her lip for a moment, and then crossed her arms, shaking her head.

"You go," she said. "I'll go...stand in the living room," she said.

"Sharp plan. Any strategy behind it?"

"I like the living room."

"Fair enough," Han said, smoothing his hands down his shirt to clear the wrinkles as he started forward. "Let me just get the door like your butler," he added dramatically.

"Well, you're already the cook," Leia murmured faintly, and Han turned to feign a menacing glare -

"You watch that mouth, Sweetheart, or I'll have to show you who's boss - "

Leia pretended to fan herself.

"I'm shaking," she hissed.

"You will be," Han promised, winking seductively.

She smiled, watching him saunter off to get the door, and then turned to eye the abandoned glass of wine on the counter. Well, maybe - no. She shook her head, and smoothed her hands over her own blouse, taking a deep breath, and departing the kitchen for the spacious living area. She liked that the moment of arrival had snuck up on her; it gave her less time to stew in her already complex thoughts. She'd met people she didn't get along with before - in fact, she'd met politicians whose views she starkly disagreed with, only to have dinner with them and find that personally, she liked their style. Mara was no different - Mara was a woman she had an incomplete image of, a personal bias that - perhaps Winter was right - involved designating Mara as a scapegoat for all the negative things she couldn't feel about Luke, or hadn't had the change to grapple with in a living Anakin Skywalker - and Mara deserved to be judged on her own merits.

Voices in the hall; Luke and Han only, loud and boisterous, and then she smoothed her hands over her blouse again, checking her reflection one last time in the powered down glass of the Holo. She swallowed hard and braced herself and clung to the reminder that regardless of what Mara had done for the Empire in the past, she wasn't walking around in black cloaks with red lightsabers now.

"You drink, Jade?" she heard Han ask, and was only able to decipher a muffled, female response as all three of them appeared around the corner, Luke strolling ahead and leading the way.

Beaming, her brother stopped short when he saw her, pausing only for a moment, and then sprang forward, nearly dancing on the balls of his feet. It hadn't really been long since they'd seen each other; he'd been on Coruscant for a while, fulfilling military duties and working with some minor political delegations regarding his research into once-prominent Jedi sights. His schedule did not always match up with Leia's, and lately, he'd been absorbed with Mara - at least that's what she assumed, since she had been staying on Coruscant with him.

Leia had a moment to study Mara over Luke's shoulder as he approached - she was tall; nearly as tall as Han, in fact, and for a brief moment, Leia wished she hadn't chosen to go barefoot - her height, she was always so stupidly insecure about her height, in moments when she wanted to feel strong and imposing - but before her thoughts could linger, she was aware only of Mara turning to look at her, and then Luke was a sensory distraction, obscuring her vision as he closed the gap between them.

Luke clasped her in one of his hugs, pressing close with an extra dose of support, as if to both encourage her, and thank her for the effort she was making. Leia squeezed his shoulders with equal emotion, and bit the inside of her lip when he seemed to startle a little, curious, and leaned back. He looked at her for a moment, his head cocked to the side with interest, and then grinned, his eyebrows going up. He started to speak and Leia, realizing what he had become aware of, shook her head, her heart leaping into her throat. There was a mixture of alarm and calm on her face as she shushed him, softly, under her breath -

"Don't say anything, Luke," she warned. She pursed her lips lightly, her voice staying whisper-quiet as her heart still raced. "I haven't told Han yet."

She should have realized Luke would notice instantly - he had remarked, last time, that he'd sensed something different about her, and realized what it must be after she told him she was pregnant. Similar to how she knew herself better this time, knew what to read into, and what to understand, Luke had immediately identified the subtle shifts in her presence.

He swallowed down his exclamation obediently, and nodded, equal parts thrilled for her, and curious as to why she hadn't told Han - and she seemed to read that question in his eyes, and cleared her throat gently, a small, wry smile sparkling in her eyes.

"I have a moment in mind," she assured him - and she did; she wanted a moment when he was already content, relaxed, happy, and thinking about what he was going to do next, and she knew exactly when that would be opportune.

Luke squeezed her shoulders tightly, grinning, and swayed on his feet a little, as if he could barely contain his excitement. His good will was enthusiastic, and contagious, and Leia's own mood skyrocketed, giddy with the secret knowledge, and thus buoyed by it. She pressed her palms to Luke's shoulders and turned him slightly, clearing her throat firmly, and expectantly. He looked between her, and Mara, who stood next to Han with her arms folded, waiting.

Luke held out his hand, and Mara stepped forward. Her expression was entirely unreadable, her demeanor composed, and reserved. In addition to her advantageous height, she had good looks; fine, sharp green eyes like emeralds, red hair, the sort of red that was imposing and dark, rather than light, gingery, and golden. She wore dark blue trousers tucked into dark blue boots, a loose grey blouse that looked to only have a sleeve on one side, and a faded yellow red flight jacket that appeared to be Luke's. It was an understated look similar to Leia's - aware of her good attributes, without overly accentuating them.

Han lifted his hand and jabbed a thumb at Mara.

"Luke wasn't making her up," he said, loud and light.

Luke glared at him.

"What do you - you saw her, you saw her during - !" he stopped, scowling mildly at Han for getting a reaction out him, and then he rested his hand on Mara's elbow, and gestured to her more formally, shaking his head at Han's quips and giving Leia a short, but meaningful look before he spoke again. "Leia, this is Mara Jade," he said simply.

He looked at Mara, and executed the same meaningful pause, before tilting his head at Leia.

"Mara, this is - "

"Leia Solo," Leia interrupted, giving the simplest name on her docket - though she hardly expected Luke would have given a title or anything of the sort. She held out her hand flat, palm up, peaceful, and committed, and waited for Mara to take it, or to extend her culture's greeting. Commonly, the hand extended palm up was the unassuming way to offer greeting in the political world; it did not demand a handshake, if handshakes were culturally unclean, but rather declared that the individual was weaponless, and understood the custom of greeting in itself.

Though sweet, and quaint, Leia found Luke's introduction to be a little absurd; Mara would clearly know Leia when she saw her.

Mara placed her hand on Leia's firmly, and twisted it upright, giving her the usual greeting - a handshake. Her grip was assertive, without being uncomfortable, and she held for the appropriate amount of time before releasing, and inclining her head.

"You are known as Leia Solo now?" Mara remarked - dispensing with any obligatory platitudes. Her eyes flicked sideways at Luke, just a little. "I do not believe I knew that."

"To family," Leia said cordially, and inclined her own head, "and friends."

A silence fell - one that was not necessarily uncomfortable, but one in which the two women studied each other, taking a moment to reflect, and most certainly sizing up the situation. From upstairs, one or two of Zozy's excited, yet strained, chirps echoed, and Luke turned to Han, his brow furrowed.

"Where is he?" he asked. "Why isn't he out?"

"Bedroom," Han said, gesturing at Mara and Leia. "We weren't sure if she liked animals, and he's kinda, y'know...annoying," Han explained.

Mara turned slightly.

"Thank you," she said, without acknowledging whether or not she did like animals - without giving much away at all. Then, entirely unexpectedly, she looked back to Leia, and back to Han again, the smallest crease appearing above her nose. "Is Chewbacca here?" she asked.

Han arched a brow. He shook his head.

"Shame," Mara said, deadpan. "I had heard he was a bit of a war hero."

There was a faint smile on her lips, and Han shot a narrow look at Luke, glaring at him.

"Did you make Chewie the star of all my stories again?" he demanded.

"Chewie is the star of all your stories," Luke said innocently.

Han glowered, and pointed a finger at Mara.

"You, come get a drink," he said, with his effortless charm. "You wanna hear war stories? I'll tell you - can't trust that kid, the Rogue Squadron glued his ass to his flight seat once - that's not an exaggeration - " Han beckoned to Mara, and she lowered her head a little, accepting the invite - and Leia supposed she saw it for what it was, a moment to give her some respite, to take her own edge off, and to let Luke and Leia have their own moment, before the evening got into the full swing of things, and began to embed itself into their history.

Luke watched Han whisk her away, and then turned eagerly to Leia.

"It's silly to ask you want you think after an interaction that minimal but - what do you think?" he demanded.

Leia's response was level.

"She doesn't look like quite the monster I was imagining."

Luke snorted.

"You don't look like a threat at all until there's a blaster in your hand," he noted.

Leia smiled placidly, her shoulders relaxing.

"This will go well, Luke," she said calmly, surprising herself a little - but her words were honest, and prophetic. She did not want to hate Mara, she did not want to be estranged from Luke, and in the past, she had found that mindset was very often half the battle - in so many cases, people could make themselves see the bad in anything, make themselves hate anything. Leia was sure there were qualities about Mara that she could hate - but she was resolved not to see only those qualities, and to dwell instead on all the reasons that Luke trusted his faith, and his heart, with her.

"It will," Luke agreed emphatically. He paused for only a brief moment, letting that positivity settle in, before he seized her hand enthusiastically again, his face lighting up. He glanced behind him to check that they were alone, and jumped up once, purely excited. "You're going to have a baby!" he celebrated.

She bit her lip and clasped his hand tightly in both of hers, surreptitiously looking over his shoulder before joining in the private moment of joy. Her eyes sparkled, and she nodded.

"It's going to take this time," she said, in a relieved rush. "I can feel it."

He nodded at her jubilantly, and Leia, happy to revel privately for a moment, felt confident in her own assessment of how the rest of the night would go. She doubted it would be without its tense or awkward moments - no burgeoning relationship with these kind of complexities was - but she was more than capable of handling them without a breakdown or any of the stunted, damaging emotional ruts of some of her harder days, and with such - such new and awe-inspiring challenges on the horizon, this she could handle with all the same grace and deference Luke had so often before afforded her.

---

Leia considered the evening to be going well. As far as messy family affairs could go, this one was certainly less contentious than some of the others she'd experienced recently – there had not yet been a attempted fist fight, a la Bail and Ruwee, and Leia had not stormed away from the dinner table in high emotion, as she had the night her father told her the full story of her parentage.

Fairly, so far, this could be judged a success, and even despite that comfortable assessment, Leia found herself standing out on the balcony, alone, surveying the landscape. Landscape on Coruscant was a curious, rare thing – all of it crafted by sentient beings, these days, and tainted with at least a small amount of obvious forgery, but it was still something to behold, and something Leia fiercely cherished in their new place.

The expansive balcony allowed her to look out over the courtyard, and up at the stars – though by stars, she mean the flashing halogen lights of traffic high above, for here, the regulations demanded that ships adhere to a high elevation, so as to alleviate noise and light pollution, casting the privileged community in less hustle, bustle, and toxic pollution than elsewhere.

Near perfect, she thought – not Naboo, or Corellia; certainly not Alderaan – but home, and near perfect, for their purposes.

She leaned forward on the bannister, resting her elbow on the stone, her chin on her palm, and gazed out over the courtyard idly, reflecting on the state of things. Mara was guarded, but cordial, quick-witted and demonstrably intelligent. She had a dangerous poise that was likely learned from years expecting someone or something to stab her in the back – Leia related to that poise, and seeing Mara across the table, wondered if that was the rough edginess her father had seen in her, when he first met her again. Her angular, harsh face was soft when Luke spoke to her, or near her, and her eyes seem to catch everything, even when she wasn't looking – Leia easily recognized Force sensitivity in the other woman, if for no other reason than Mara seemed half a second aware of things before anyone else, exactly as Luke did.

Leia had yet to hone her own skills that well when it came to her surroundings, but something about Mara – something, somehow, inspired her to learn. Perhaps it was knowing Mara had followed the Force to the Dark Side, and back, and in the process had found healing, and found Luke – that was almost enough to change Leia's mind about her own reservations regarding wanting to passionately feel her own emotions, and fearing how the Force would react to them.

One particular thing Leia liked about Mara immediately was how immensely uncomfortable she seemed in such a pseudo-normal, unremarkable, dinner party situation – she had court manners, instilled by the Emperor, no doubt, yet she was stiff, and on edge, as if she felt she were about to be castigated at any moment – she bristled for brief moments when she heard her name, or when she and Leia spoke – and they only spoke casually, in safe, short sentences, while Han and Luke steered the evening. She expected, it seemed, to be subjected to an inquisition.

Leia supposed she didn't blame her – after all, she had led literal inquisitions into Imperial crimes for nearly a year after the fall of Palpatine.

Shifting her head, Leia listened to the muffled sounds of activity inside – Zozy was out now, entertaining in his own way, and the socializing had moved to the living room. Han was so loud – an ingrained trait of his, Leia thought – that it somehow sounded as if there were more than three people in there, and she wondered if they were missing her, antsy about her. She hadn't snuck away; they had all seen her open the windows for some of the balmy night air – and wander out to bask in it by herself.

She closed her eyes, thinking Mara was both different than, and exactly how, she had imagined.

Though it had been easy to paint her as villain, an Imperial hag wantonly doing the Emperor's bidding, and somehow ensnaring Luke's good heart in her web, when she was an intangible phantom, it was difficult to see that monstrous picture now. Before anything, Leia saw a woman, and that sparked a sense of kinship that was primal to the bone, and when she let herself be present in the Force for a moment, that surreal entity whispered the same sort of things Luke and Winter had said – there, but for the grace of God, Leia.

Choice and fate were deeply intertwined, deeply complex philosophical topics, and woven in their web was circumstance, privilege, oppression, agency, bravery, and fear – a frightening amalgamation of things that damned some, and saved others.

Pride in her own resilience and resistance regarding certain things, and certain temptations, was justifiable, and earned; but tolerance for the vastly different paths of others, and their choices in different moments, with different resources, was a vital virtue.

She figured the next step was trying to navigate moving past a formal, superficial sort of relationship that kept to police niceties and clipped answers, into something deeper – that would need to happen, if Luke's seriousness about her persisted, and Leia sensed it would. That was a difficult thing to broach – intimate interpersonal relationships between women were usually earned in split-second moments of reliability that burgeoned into fierce attachment, and Leia wondered if anything like that could happen with Mara when there existed a reluctance to discuss her past.

There would just have to be – those terrible moments –

There was a soft, quiet noise behind her – clearly deliberate, though almost not loud enough to hear. Leia turned her head immediately, her attention caught, and saw Mara standing there in the doorway – she had tapped her foot subtly against the concrete of the balcony, and slid the glass door just a bit, so it rasped against its tracks.

Leia arched her brows, taken aback – it was such a pointed method of approach, but the most striking thing about it was –

"I would wager," Mara said in a steady, low voice, "that you dislike being snuck up on."

Mara turned her head to look over her shoulder, as if ensuring she wasn't being followed, and then turned back to Leia, remaining in the open doorway unobtrusively.

"You'd win," Leia allowed, and straightened up a little, rubbing her elbow as it tingled numbly, asleep from bearing her weight for the past few minutes. She pursed her lips – whether Luke had warned Mara, or Mara picked up on that herself, was immaterial at the moment; Leia was more fascinated by the exquisite way Mara had managed to neatly announce her presence without creating a startling noise that was a cringe-worthy attempt to warn Leia, but was really just an abrupt scare all in itself.

Mara nodded, without asking for elaboration, and without appearing pleased with herself. She took one step forward, and then clasped her hands in front of her, the same way Luke often did when he spoke with dignitaries. It seemed outwardly peaceful, but Leia knew it was also a strategic placement; the lightsaber was in easy reach, with that pose.

"I don't mean to interrupt you if you are meditating or taking a break," Mara said flatly, "but I did want to speak to you alone."

Leia tilted her head to the side a bit, her lips turning up. She almost blew out a breath of relief and threw her hands up to express her agreement – it was damn time they found a moment to do this, if only to break the ice incrementally more, and get Han and Luke to relax. Instead of that, though, Leia only answered mildly:

"I'm not opposed to speaking alone."

Mara nodded again, curt and accepting.

"I'd have rather gotten straight to it," she said honestly, moving forward onto the balcony.

Her arms came up, and she crossed them tightly in front of herself, a protective, but confident posture – Mara's manner of doing it made her look broad, and strong; Leia thought with amusement when she tucked her arms in like that, she looked tiny, and unimpressive.

"Yes, well," Leia murmured, and shot a glance over her shoulder through the open balcony doors, one eyebrow rising. "Our men seem to be actively preventing that."

Mara smirked dryly.

"Mine is protecting you," Leia snorted.

"Funny," Mara replied smoothly, "mine's protecting you."

Leia nodded slowly, moving her head back so that she looked over the courtyard again, her back to the open door. She ran her palm lightly over the stone, standing there with Mara, their profiles thoughtful, and illuminated in moonlight – and as Mara had sought her out, she waited for Mara to speak.

"He's very protective," the redhead said finally, "of you." She turned her head, and Leia felt her staring intently. "Luke. He holds you in high esteem. I don't know you personally, but from what I know of your political philosophies, and your actions, you deserve it."

Leia felt a surge of amusement at that – such a logically offered compliment, so – blunt.

"You're a saint of a woman and you've been able to maintain that, and he's a saint of a man. I've got a filthy and untenable history. I love Luke, and I thought your opinion of me would make or break us. It's why the idea of you made me bitter," Mara said curtly. "It's why I was as wary of meeting you as you were of meeting me."

At that, Leia did turn and look at Mara, the expression on her face frozen between incredulous, and uncertain. She had not expected –

Mara smiled wryly at the look.

"You thought I would be less forthcoming?" she guessed smoothly. "Yes; so did Luke," she said, with a mild shrug. "He saw my damage, and he assessed it using the only comparison he had: you."

"Me," Leia repeated softly.

"You were steel for a long time, weren't you?" Mara asked bluntly. "Armored, and anesthetized."

Leia compressed her lips with her brows raised – that, she sensed, Mara was not getting from Luke; rather, she had the distinct impression that Mara had gleaned that analysis from watching Leia in public, hearing stories – making her own study.

And for what it was worth, Leia was now forced to hold Mara's gaze, and acknowledge that she might be the first person who had seen all of Leia's cold outward demeanor for what it was: a debilitating lack of ability to process the horrors in her life.

"He figured being with me would require the same sort of handling as he'd seen in interpersonal relationships with you."

"Well," Leia said slowly. "Women are different."

"As I told him," Mara agreed. "I don't remember a time when I wasn't enslaved; when I wasn't someone else's. Until the Empire fell, and I met Luke. I was raised on suppression of feeling, and the determination to ignore my emotions and instincts, because they would get me killed. I was raised about bloodshed and gore and violence, became inured to horrors. You were raised around healthy expression of those feelings and instincts, and protected from the worst of the world, until Alderaan was destroyed," Mara lifted her hand, and snapped her fingers, "and it cost you everything."

She tilted her head at Leia.

"Feelings and instincts. So, here we are – myself, blunt and mean, with mine; you, still, I would argue, re-embracing yours."

Leia looked at her mildly for a long time. She flattened her palms on the stone bannister, and tilted her head, looking up, away from Mara.

"I'm not a saint," she murmured – she'd said as much to Luke, too, once.

"No one is," Mara allowed, after a moment. "You don't have the sins I do, and you shouldn't pretend to," she added, a bit sharper.

Mara fell silent, and shifted. She leaned forward, placing her own palms on the stone, and Leia heard her take a deep breath.

"I know what you spent your entire youth fighting against," Mara said shortly. "The Empire. A system I ruthlessly supported. And while I – am uncomfortable, and unwilling, to go to certain lengths to secure your blessing, there are things I have – fought, to be able to say, so that for Luke – "

"Stop."

Leia cut her off quietly, and without malice. She looked down at her hands, and then turned to Mara, shaking her head.

"You have no obligation to do this."

Mara stared at her, lips parted.

"This," Leia elaborated. "This confession, this penance. Whatever it is, whatever you want to force yourself through for my benefit. You don't have to," Leia said firmly.

She took a deep breath.

"Mara," she said evenly, "when Luke told me about you, I heard the worst – assassin, Imperial, Sith. I was blind and sick with prejudice before I let him get another word out. The atmosphere around me was different. I don't begrudge myself my reactions; what I do begrudge myself is the time it took me to alter my perspective, and hear what my brother was saying to me, hear what he was talking about when it came to redemption, to living, breathing struggles with the choice to do and be good, in the here and now."

She pursed her lips, licked them, and then continued –

"I always disdained the way I was supposed to forgive Vader based on one kind act, and Luke's bright-eyed word, but you – are not Vader, and you're not the Empire; you are a woman separate, with your own history, and your own unpleasant path riddled with dark things that shaped the ways you took. I don't say that to absolve you of blame where you deserve blame, or to mitigate the choices you made, but I understand that you were not always given the resources I was to do – what I did."

Leia swallowed hard.

"And having faced death, I know that I want to live, and I don't know what I would have done in some situations if the choice was die, or engage the gray areas of the Force, or bide my time," she trailed off, her eyes still steady on Mara's.

"Luke didn't force me into meeting you. I asked – and anticipating this, I chose to see things a certain way," she said boldly. "I have enough hatred for the Empire. I have…enough hatred for my own paternity to last a lifetime. There are beasts in this galaxy for me to hate, and to hunt, and I've handed justice to many of them, and I still work alongside some of them. I cannot, in good faith, allow myself to treat co-workers who, though vile, stabilize the political sphere, better than I treat a woman my brother loves. When Luke made it clear how important to him you were, I had to decide how to take that. I've made a choice, and in the end, it was simple – once I got over myself, and listened to wiser words."

She thought of the things Winter had said – especially her comparison of Mara to Crix Madine, given Madine's heinous involvement in an Imperial massacre – Crix was a lauded hero of the Rebellion, and it was chilling that only a mass murder had been able to make him see the errors of the side he was on, but he had seen them, and he had prevailed against them in the end.

The galaxy was just – too complex for complete moral purity, for anyone to be in possession of a completely sanitized slate.

"I don't need another person to blame or another reason to detest what I fought against. I have enough," Leia said emphatically.

She did not give that much time to sink in; before Mara could gather her thoughts –though she appeared to be as caught off guard as Leia had been, at first – she continued.

"What I do need is for Luke to be happy. For Luke to have what I have with Han. I don't know what your sins are, and I don't need to know. I don't have to forgive you, or absolve you. What I have to do is keep moving forward."

She hesitated.

"Luke's respect and faith should be enough, it always should have been. He blindly trusted me more times than I can count. He was right when he told me I should meet my biological family to confront my bloodline. I'm sure he's right about you. In the past I have – been too cynical and dismissive of Luke's kindness, of his savior complex. He forgave Vader, after a deeply personal confrontation that involved familial bonds, but he has never forgiven the Emperor."

Leia nodded firmly, as if to emphasize her next words.

"Luke has a line," she said. "I trust it."

Leia's next words jumped to her lips ferociously, and she was scared of them, but she said them anyway – said them bravely, because she needed to acknowledge them, especially now; needed to voice the precarious, lingering fear that surrounded her when it came to the exquisitely complex question of nature, versus nurture.

"Besides," she remarked quietly "would I have been any different than you, if I had been raised by Vader?"

She thought of Luke once admonishing her about her privilege, how reactively offended she had been, and how she'd reflected on it later, in meditations, in introspections.

"I like to think I would," she said earnestly. "It's easy to say you'd always have become the person you are. But I don't know," she admitted stiffly.

She thought that would linger, that admission, as a vocal manifestation of the one thing that would always remain, and haunt her - even when she coped with and got beyond everything else. It was heavy on her shoulders now, as she thought briefly of her and Han's future as parents – would they be enough, to keep darkness, to keep a curse, away from their child?

There was such a thin, thin line between blaming circumstance, ignoring choice, and coldly abandoning someone who could be saved for eternally lost.

"And maybe," Leia said curtly, "I just find it easier to decide to have no problem with you because you, specifically, have never done anything to me. Maybe that is morally corrupt - but I'm human. I suffer from biases as anyone else does," she said honestly.

Next to her, Mara was quiet, absorbed in a silence that permeated the air around them, a silence that – after her lengthy diatribe – Leia found herself frustrated with, because she could not read it – and Leia was used to reading others like the open novels they so often were.

"Luke was right," Mara said finally, her voice tinged with mild resignation.

The comment was cryptic, and Leia's jaw tensed, as she tilted her head slightly.

"How so?" she asked.

"I do like you."

Mara's answer came with a pursed mouth, and a rueful smile – and after a split second of silence, Leia laughed, loud, incredulous, and pleasantly resentful.

"Ah," she breathed. "I hate when they're right," she tilted her head in the direction of the men.

For the first time during the evening, a wry, genuine smile touched Mara's lips, and Leia defined it as a smile that was scared of its own power – so accustomed to being hidden away that it appeared mean, and cool; so unused that it was aching to be coaxed out again and again.

Mara cleared her throat.

"Thank you," she said.

Leia arched her brows.

"For refusing to meet me until you were ready," Mara said.

Leia nodded.

"Better, in the end," she said dryly. "I can be quite the bitch."

"Never did like that term," Mara said breezily.

Leia smiled a little. She bit her lip, and straightened, leaning her hip against the stone railing.

"May I ask you one thing?" she ventured.

"I reserve the right not to answer, but go ahead," Mara said.

Leia compressed her lips.

"What was the moment?" she asked. "The moment that turned you away from the Dark Side."

Mara looked mildly surprised.

"I never knew it as the Dark Side," she said, after a moment – and Leia thought that answer was probably profound in itself – she had never known it as the Dark Side, because she had never really known any alternative at all.

Mara continued to think.

"The day my loyalty to Sidious began to fracture," she said slowly, "was the day he bid me to murder Vader the moment Luke had turned."

Leia drew back, startled, and Mara gave her a wry smile.

"There are only ever two Sith, you see, and in that moment, I realized I was dispensable – that I was enslaved, by these people, not loved, not nurtured – as a little girl thinks she is, when she's raised by someone – I realized I was a terminal acolyte, and if the Emperor could brutally dispense with his right hand man in an instant, after decades – I was less than nothing to him. Less," she emphasized.

She compressed her lips.

"That may not be the answer you wanted, but it ultimately led to a very deep understanding of all the things I had made dispensable, in my disconnect from the real nature of the Force."

She nodded.

"And so I began to reject that."

Leia, processing the sordid, yet fascinating way Mara had begun to turn her back on the hand that fed her, shook her head a little, dazed.

"That - was prior to the Empire's fall," she said finally. "Your loyalty was fractured – in your own right," she said, "not because – you lost."

Mara shrugged. She did not nod, or argue, she just let Leia understand that, and Leia felt – better, it was somehow exactly what she wanted to hear; Mara was not just on the path for good because she had lost.

She stepped forward and tentatively touched Mara's hand.

"I know what the Dark Side feels like," she said quietly, thinking of the mad rush of it through her veins as it gave her the strength to tighten the chain around Jabba's neck.

Mara made a grim, scoffing noise.

"Like an orgasm," she said flippantly, "but not a good one. Like one you somehow manage to accidentally give yourself when you're a preteen, and you want to do it again, but it's not really that satisfying, because you don't know know what the fuck you're really doing, or how to control it."

Leia laughed, drawing her hand back. She tilted her head, and nodded a little. Mara smirked.

"While I'm on your good side," she drawled. "A frivolous question – Luke doesn't seem to be able to help me. What colour should I wear to this party of his," she said, jerking her thumb vaguely in Han's direction.

Leia was amused for a moment, and then sobered, when she realized Mara was patiently serious.

"Green, easily," she said, without a second though. "I can recommend some shops. Or, if you'd rather, my friend Winter is about your height, and she could lend a gown. She went overboard with colours once she was married."

Mara looked thoughtful, and hesitant, but nodded, accepting the advice. She reached up to brush her hair back, and tilted her head slightly, as if she'd sensed something. Shortly after, Zozy trotted out to the balcony and inched towards Leia's feet, shooting a scared look at the openings in the stone.

Luke followed, poking his head out hesitantly.

"What are you two doing?" he asked warily.

"Having sex," Mara retorted, deadpan. She thrust her hand out at Leia, who stood opposite her in a conversational pose. "What the fuck does it look like we're doing, Lu? We're talking."

Luke blinked at her, and gave her a withering glare. He glanced at Leia to check her appearance, and then scowled dryly.

"No hair pulling?" he asked sarcastically.

Mara clicked her tongue at him.

"Go back inside."

Luke withdrew a little, but not before giving Leia a peek around the door, his brows going up gleefully. Through their connection, she gave him a silent assurance that all was well, and he retreated. Leia was quiet, listening to him inform Han –

- Just talking? – Han asked.

Well, Mara said they're having sex – Luke snorted.

Han blew it off with a cavalier – they can't be, Leia'd be way louder.

She blushed, and smiled a little to herself. She bent to rub Zozy's ears, and then picked him up, settling him cozily in the crook of her arm.

"He's an interesting creature," Mara remarked. "I like how much Han pretends to hate him."

"Hmm," Leia murmured. She laughed. "Han gave him to me after my miscarriage," she said quietly, looking up. "You knew about that, I'm sure," she said.

Mara nodded, hesitated, and then lowered her voice.

"Yes," she said, "and I know well-wishes are in order for you now."

Leia compressed her lips, nodding again – so Mara could sense it, as well. She was even less surprised – Mara was a woman, and considering her lifelong immersion in the Force, she likely would have known it before Leia the first time.

"Han doesn't know," Leia warned again. "Please keep it that way."

Mara simply nodded, needing no elaboration. Zozy twisted in Leia's arms, and plucked one of his tail feathers, holding it cutely in his mouth. He arched his head and wagged his tail, pawing out towards Mara. Leia shifted him.

"The feather is for you," she translated. "He does that."

Mara looked bewildered, and a bit skeptical, but she stepped forward, and took the feather gently from Zozy's mouth. He chirped at her, satisfied. She looked at the thing curiously for a while, and then looked up, a determined expression on her face. Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her head at Leia.

"Would you mind if I married him?" Mara asked abruptly.

Leia blinked.

"…Zozy?" she asked, uncomprehending.

Mara's lips twitched up, amused.

"Luke," she said.

Leia's eyes widened – she forgot to laugh at herself for thinking Mara meant Zozy. She stared speechlessly, for a long moment, and then compressed her lips, cocking her head to the side.

"I can't ask his father," Mara said irreverently. "You're a blood relative."

Leia still looked consternated.

"Has it come to that?" she asked.

"It will," Mara said simply. "I'd prefer to have your – sanction, so to speak, when the time comes."

Leia pursed her lips.

"Has he asked you?" she ventured faintly.

"No," Mara said blithely. "I intend to ask him, at as yet to be determined time," she added, matter-of-factly. "I don't know if you know this about your brother, but he's very hesitant to take any sort of charge around women. I'd like to get married, and I'd like it to not be ten years from now while he decides if he's being too pushy."

Leia stroked Zozy's ears silently, fascinated, overwhelmed – and amused. She nodded as Mara spoke, but had to repeat to herself all the words, until it was silent, and Mara was watching her intently – and she had to speak, so she blurted –

"Yes."

"Yes, you mind?"

"No. Yes. Yes, I – " Leia paused, composed her words, and arched a brow at herself. "I won't mind."

Mara smiled, inclining her head.

"I asked if you minded. For your blessing," she said pointedly, "not for your permission."

"I understand," Leia said – she had requested the same from her father; not his permission, but his acceptance, his happiness, so that her union would be blessed. She let the moment linger, and then quipped – "Though when the time comes, I will be telling him you sought me out to negotiate his bride price."

Mara smirked.

"What will you tell him it was?"

Leia nodded at the feather in Mara's hand.

"One single Mooka feather."

Mara snorted. She turned the feather back and forth in her hands, and then turned her head, looking into the apartment. She tilted her head pointedly, as if to ask – shall we? – And Leia nodded, though she noticed Mara respectfully did not wait for her so that they could walk in together, leaving Leia with a moment of solitude on the balcony.

She bent to press a kiss between Zozy's ears, admiring the view again, tuning into the Force, to the ethereal world around her. There was warmth there, and pleasant anticipation, and she turned on her heel to go back into the apartment, faced with Han in the doorway, come to check on her –

- and she gave him a brilliant smile.

---

!
onwards to Han's retirement.

-alexandra
story #373