CHAPTER 1

"Are you sure this looks okay?" Luke Skywalker asked, self-consciously reaching up to adjust the collar on his bright yellow jacket. The kid had been doing that for the last fifteen minutes and if Han hadn't known any better, he would have assumed that Luke was actually a thirteen-year-old girl from Kuat, not a nineteen-year-old farm boy from Tatooine.

Han Solo sighed, stealing a glance at his Wookiee co-pilot, Chewbacca, who was doing his best to ignore the situation and leave Han to comfort the nervous hero. "I told you, kid, you look fine," Han reassured him. "Besides, nobody in there," he gestured toward the large auditorium-style room where the ceremony would take place, "is going to give a damn what you look like, I can guarantee that."

Luke turned, somewhat insulted, still fiddling with his jacket. "Well I did fire the kill shot, you know."

Han rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant that everyone'll be staring at the Princess."

"Oh." Luke turned again, seemingly staring through the thick temple walls to where the Princess was waiting for them. "Yeah," he replied absently. "You're probably right."

The two men stood silently for a while, the only noise coming when Chewbacca rumbled a soft question. "No, I don't know why we're waiting," Han replied. "I guess the Rebels aren't as organized as the other side." Chewbacca guffawed at that, but Luke kept pacing, oblivious to their exchange.

"Are you sure this looks fine?" he asked again, palming his jacket again.

"For the hundredth time, yes! You look fine." Han himself was wearing the same outfit he'd come in on, but Luke's desert clothes weren't necessarily appropriate to wear when receiving a medal from Princess Leia Organa, so he'd scrounged together whatever he could find when they'd told him about the ceremony, and he'd been fretting ever since.

Luke looked down at himself, frowning in dissatisfaction. "I don't know how you can be so calm," he finally said. "Do you know how many people are going to be watching us?"

"So? You infiltrated the Death Star, rescued a princess, and flew head to head with Darth Vader, and now you're scared of a little medal ceremony? All ya gotta do is walk down that aisle, smile at the Princess, and get your award. Simple as ryshcate."

"Flying's easy. I didn't have all those people watching me fly."

"Well actually you did, you just weren't thinking about it at the time." The kid stopped in his tracks, visibly blanching, and Han immediately regretted what he had just said. The smuggler took a deep breath and leaned in conspiratorially. "Look, Luke. These things aren't that big a deal. With the way you fly, you better get used to 'em. I bet the Rebels are gonna want to give you a lot of these medals."

Luke smiled sheepishly. "Thanks, Han."

"No problem. Trust me, you do get used to it."

"How do you know?" Luke asked curiously.

"What, you think a guy like me has never gotten a medal before?"

"Oh…no…that's not what I meant…"

Han laughed and patted the younger man's arm. "Just messin' with you, kid. Actually…" Han trailed off, wondering about what he was going to say. He wasn't ashamed of his past, not by a long shot, but he wasn't one to go spilling his guts to every new person who entered his life. Especially not to a kid who was hell bent on joining this Rebellion.

But surprisingly, Han didn't see a reason not to be honest. He shrugged. "If you want to know the truth, I attended the Imperial academy at Carida."

Luke's eyes widened. "You went to the academy?"

"Yup. Graduated top of my class. Trust me, we had to go through a lotof ceremonies like this one. Graduation was a piece of work. I hated them at first, but I got used to them. It was just part of the gig that I learned to live with."

"So what happened?"

"You mean, why am I not in the Empire no more?"

"Yeah."

"…There were other things I couldn't learn to live with." Han turned slightly toward his Wookiee co-pilot. Even the kid didn't miss the undertone.

"Oh. But if you left the Empire…why didn't you join the Alliance?"

"Well, first, I didn't have much of a choice but to leave. I was sort of written up for gross insubordination. By the time I learned a court martial was coming my way, well, I decided to get out of there before they could throw me in the brig. And second, back then there wasn't much of an Alliance to join. So instead I joined up with Chewie and we've been smuggling ever since."

"But now—"

Han turned sharply. "Now what, kid?"

"…Now you're here. And now there is a strong Rebellion to join."

Han turned away, not meeting the kid's eye. "We'll see."

After a few moments of silence, Luke spoke up again. "Thanks for coming back, Han."

"Yeah, well." Han shifted, uncomfortable with the gratitude. It had been several days since the battle and the kid hadn't stopped thanking him. Gratitude from the Princess was one thing, but gratitude from Luke… "No problem. Just glad I could help." He could feel the other man's blue eyes staring intently at him, and he grabbed at his collar, nerves suddenly starting to bother him as well.

"Say, Luke," he started, trying to ease the tension, "where did you get that jacket from anyway?"

Luke looked down, startled. "Why? It doesn't look good? I thought you said it looked good!"

"Calm down, it looks fine! It's just…well, I'm no fashion expert or anything, but I don't think you should wear bright yellow ever again."

"It's the only thing I could find," he explained.

"And don't worry, after saving their skins, I doubt they'll think any less of you for wearing it. But you really should burn it afterwards."

"I can't. I borrowed it."

"From who?"

"Wes Janson; new pilot, just got in from the Tierfon Yellow Aces. Said he wanted to honor the destroyer of the Death Star with his official squadron colors."

Han suppressed a laugh, coughing into his palm. Destroyer of the Death Star and yet the kid still had so much to learn… "Yeah, well. Between you and me, kid—burn it anyway."

Before Luke could respond, they heard trumpets blaring, indicating that the ceremony was about to begin. Han took a deep breath. "Here we go," he said, clasping the kid on the arm in encouragement. For a second Luke looked like a frightened animal, but he took a deep breath and smiled brightly anyway, unwilling to let his nerves show in front of his audience. Together they turned the corner, and Han saw Luke's eyes widen in amazement at the massed troops. Again Han suppressed a laugh, wondering what the kid would say if he ever saw what these things were like in the Empire.

As the two men walked down the aisle, Han did his best to ignore everyone watching him, remembering again why he hated all the pomp and circumstance that went along with a commission in the Empire. Instead he stared directly ahead, at the beautiful young woman in white waiting for them at the end of the aisle. After he received his medal, Han couldn't help himself; he winked at the Princess. Surprisingly, she smiled in return…

And as they turned around, Han took no notice of any of the applause, or Luke's brilliant smile, or even Chewbacca's victorious roar. For Han Solo, in that one moment, her smile was a greater reward than all the credits in the universe.

The celebration had overflowed from the audience hall to the mess to the hangars and even back to some of the more amorous Rebels' quarters. The mirth in the air was palpable, as was the relief that the Rebels were actually being granted a short moment of downtime, a brief respite from the perpetual, never-ending chase by the Empire. It would be a while before Vader arrived with the Imperial fleet to deliver justice for the destruction of the Death Star, but for now, they could celebrate in peace.

But peace would not come for Leia Organa. It had left her in the Death Star control room and wouldn't be making a return any time soon. How could it? She was alone—orphaned for the second time—and forced to take upon her father's role as leader of the Rebellion. She had accepted his mantle without hesitation, but deep down, Leia wondered if she was up to the challenge. She was only nineteen, and while everyone in the Alliance seemed to respect her, there were many, many times she still felt like a little girl playing dress up.

She was standing outside in the humid night air, listening to the sounds of the jungle around her and staring at the stars above, wondering how long the Alliance had before the Empire would arrive at Yavin IV. The Rebels had grown quite skilled at abandoning their bases at a moment's notice, and knew the routine by heart, but the more time they had to evacuate, the easier it was for everyone. They'd start in the next few days, Leia knew; moving non-essential cargo and personnel off the moon, then slowly transferring personnel to the fleet until a new base could be established. Leia herself would stay at the base for as long as possible, even if they tried to order her to leave first. One thing the destruction of Alderaan had taught her—the Empire needed to be defeated at any cost. She'd give her life to defend the Rebellion.

They'd already taken everything else.

Leia tried to push the thoughts of Alderaan out of her mind as she heard someone approach her from behind. She was expecting to see Luke, as he'd taken to following her around everywhere, always asking if she was okay and if she needed to talk. She appreciated his concern and found him easy to get along with, but she was still somewhat wary of confiding her feelings to a relative stranger.

But instead of Luke, she turned to find Captain Solo walking towards her with two glasses in his hand. "Princess," he nodded.

"Captain Solo," she replied in turn, forcing herself not to groan in frustration. He'd been an enigma to her since she'd first laid eyes on him in the Death Star's detention block, a combination of fierce loyalty to those he deemed friends and utter indifference to any sort of higher cause. She'd been deeply hurt when he left before the battle and was overjoyed when he'd returned, saving the day like a bona fide hero.

And she would never admit to anyone, much less herself, that her heart had fluttered a bit when she'd heard his cheer coming in loud and clear over the comm.

Han presented her with a glass, pulling her from her thoughts. "Care for some wine?"

She shook her head and turned back to the railing, leaning against it. "No, thank you."

"You sure? They say it calms the nerves."

Leia raised an eyebrow, amused. "They say? I highly doubt that a man such as yourself is unfamiliar with the effects of wine…"

She trailed off, allowing the innuendo the hover in the air, wondering what in the galaxy had prompted her to say something like that, but Han just chuckled, forcing the glass into her hand. "Actually, I am." Again she raised an eyebrow. He leaned in to whisper, "I usually drink ale."

Despite herself, Leia laughed and took a sip of the red liquid. "I guess it couldn't hurt." Next to her, the Corellian sipped his beverage. They stood in silence for a while, sipping their drinks and listening to the celebration still raging inside the Temple.

"So did Luke send you?" she finally said, when her glass had been halfway drained. Han looked up mid-sip, frothy foam from the ale still on his upper lip, and Leia had to bite her lip to suppress her grin.

"Huh?"

"Luke. He's been shadowing me since he got back from the Death Star, worried that I'm going to have a nervous breakdown or something. He sent you here to check on me, didn't he?"

Han looked away, finishing the rest of his ale in one gulp. "No. He didn't."

"Oh." Now Leia looked away, both embarrassed at her assumption that Luke was worried about her and at her supposition that Han himself didn't care enough to approach her on his own volition. Before she could say anything else, he spoke up again, cutting her off.

"He's a good kid, you know."

Leia nodded. "Yes. We're lucky to have him."

"We?"

"The Alliance, of course."

"Right. And what makes you so sure that Luke is going to join your cause?"

"Because he already signed up."

Han whipped toward her, surprise written on the lines of his face. "What?"

"He signed up as soon as we got here, Captain Solo."

"Oh."

"You didn't know?"

"Well…he said he was gonna join…I just didn't realize he'd already made it official."

"Well, he did. He's got great dedication, and he's a natural leader. He's just what the Alliance needs."

"Yeah. He's in there right now, yapping to Antilles about starting a new squadron. You really got him eating out of your hand, don't you?"

Leia's eyes narrowed, and she drew herself up to her full height. It was not imposing at all, but she didn't care; she was starting to get very fed up with this man. "Excuse me, Captain Solo, is there something you'd like to say?"

"Yeah." Han jutted his chin forward. "Luke's a special kid. Hell of a pilot, one of the best I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot. I heard recordings of the battle up there and how he stepped in and took leadership without so much as a prompting. But he's a kid, Princess."

"He's the same age as I am," Leia countered.

"And you grew up in a castle on Alderaan. He grew up on a moisture farm on Tatooine. What does he know about how the galaxy works? Kenobi fed him what he wanted to hear about his father and that Force business and now all Luke wants is to follow in his father's footsteps be the big Jedi hero."

Leia put her hands on her hips, forcing her expression to remain impassive when all she wanted to do was deck the man! "And what, may I ask, is wrong with that?"

"Nothing! If that's what he really wants."

"And why wouldn't it be?"

"Look, Your Worshipfulness." Leia straightened up again, stepping forward as her brown eyes blazed at the man's insolence, but he wasn't deterred, and that enraged her even more. "He's got nowhere else to go. The Empire killed his family and now all he wants is revenge. But perhaps he doesn't deserve this kind of life."

"This is my life, Captain Solo. I'm not asking him to do anything that I'm not doing myself."

They glared at each other until Han finally looked away, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Princess."

She shrugged, pushing the horrible thoughts of Alderaan out of her mind. "It's in the past. There's no point in dwelling on it."

"You think that's a healthy way to look at things?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask Luke?" she retorted. When he didn't respond, she continued, "Look, my father would want me to keep fighting, so that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make him proud."

"I'm sure you already have, Princess."

She couldn't help but smile at that. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Luke is committed to the Rebellion. I wish I could say the same for you." She regarded him for a moment, watching something in him shift upon hearing her words…wondering if she had gotten through to him. If he would stay.

She doubted it. Men like him never changed. She should just accept it now before she even tried.

But she kept talking, keeping her tone as casual as she could. "We'll be starting the evacuation process soon. Moving non-essential supplies and personnel off the moon. We could use some reliable transports."

Han turned, curious. "Is that so?"

"The Rebellion can't pay the fees you're used to, but it'll be steady work at least."

The smuggler frowned at that. Leia expected him to scoff at her offer, but was surprised when he nodded. "Sure." He glanced at her. "If I can bring the kid."

Leia rolled her eyes. "If you can pry him away from his X-wing, be my guest."

He chuckled and stepped closer to her, taking her now-empty wine glass out of her hand and resting it on the stone balustrade, his fingers gently brushing against hers. She gave him a curious look and then, before she could stop him, he took her hand and placed it to his lips. "Good night, Princess," he whispered, staring into her eyes.

"Good night, Captain Solo." She turned away abruptly, not wanting him to see the flush that was creeping across her cheeks…

But he was still there, pulling her back to face him. "Call me Han," he said, with a wink.

She tilted her head in amusement. "Alright," she nodded. "And you can call me Leia."

He winked again. "Whatever you say…Your Highnessness."

"So the officer stuffs out his chest, all pompous-like, and says 'You paid the tariff for this shipment?' And Booster just stares him down all serious and says 'No sir, I have an exemption form right here.' The officer snatches it, gives it a once over, says everything is in order and sends us on our merry way."

"No offense, Wedge, but that's not a very good story."

"That's 'cause I ain't told the punchline yet—on the 'Reason for Exemption' line, Booster had written 'STOLEN GOODS.' I would've given a thousand creds to see the look on that CorSec officer's face!"

Luke threw his head back and laughed, remembering at the last second not to let his head hit the landing strut of his X-wing as he had the previous five times Wedge Antilles had made him laugh out loud. The two pilots had made their way out to the hangar to escape the celebration inside the Great Temple, both still a bit overwhelmed by all the attention they were receiving as the only survivors of Red Squadron. It was not something Luke wanted to be noticed for at all, and he knew that Wedge didn't, either. The Corellian pilot had been quiet and sullen after returning from the battle, and Luke had eventually sought him out, desperate for camaraderie with a male his age who could understand exactly what he was going through. Han was already like an older brother to him, and the Princess was—well, she was the Princess—but it turned out that Luke had much more in common with Wedge than both being survivors of the Death Star. Although they grew up in very different environments, they were both orphans and had been forced to grow up much faster than others their age, a startling trend among those enlisted in the Rebel Alliance. After a few days of Wedge's persistent survivor's guilt, Luke had finally broken through, reminding him that it was Luke who'd ordered him to pull out of the trench, and if anyone besides Darth Vader was responsible for Biggs's death, it was Luke himself. They'd argued over that, of course, but Luke's point had driven home, and the two pilots had become fast friends, Wedge introducing Luke to some of the other pilots who hadn't been able to fight in the Death Star battle, and Luke starting to feel like he really belonged with the Alliance.

"Booster was always pulling stuff like that," Wedge continued. "That's probably why I never followed in his footsteps and became a smuggler myself; I knew I could never compete with his antics."

Luke smiled and sipped some more of his ale, staring at the carbon scoring that marked what had become his X-wing. Just days ago Luke had barely a hundred credits to his name, and now he had his own personal snubfighter, a medal given to him by a princess, and a military commission. He'd been promoted to Captain as soon as the battle was over, but Luke wasn't so naïve that he hadn't noticed the rumblings that he'd be Commander Skywalker soon enough.

And then there was the Jedi business. Luke still wondered where that fit in with his new path. When he'd left Tatooine for Alderaan, he'd expected Ben to be around to help him learn the ways of the Force. Now, Ben was gone, and Luke had no one to teach him what he so desperately wanted to learn. Could he teach himself? Ben had showed him a few skills in their short time together, and Luke would practice as much as he could to increase his natural talent with the Force. But would it be good enough? And would he even have time, now that he was committed to the Rebellion? Ben had said that it was necessary that Luke learn the ways of the Force if he were to serve the Rebellion to the best of his ability…but the Force was still so foreign to Luke. Using it felt natural…just unsteady and unfamiliar.

Flying his X-wing…that, surprisingly, was completely familiar. Sometimes, he never wanted to stop flying. He'd take off right now for a joy ride if he weren't slightly intoxicated.

He took another drink and his unsteady hand forced his ale to slosh onto his borrowed jacket. Okay, maybe he was more than just slightly intoxicated. It was only the third time in his life he'd drank alcohol and he still wasn't very used to the stuff. At least the jacket wasn't important. Han had said he should burn it, after all.

"If you wanna be in the military, you really need to learn how to hold your liquor," Wedge declared. "Nobody's gonna take you seriously as their Commander if you can't drink 'em under the table."

"Excuse me?" Luke questioned, shoving his medal into Wedge's face.

"Alright, fine, maybe they will take you seriously, regardless."

"Thought so," Luke smiled, shoving his new friend in the arm. Wedge shoved back, and then they both leaned on their elbows, continuing to stare at the underside of their snubfighters and nursing their ale. "You really think they'll make me a Commander?"

"Did you not just shove the medal you got for blowing up the Death Star in my face?"

"Yeah, but…that was a lucky shot," Luke protested, even as he heard Ben's lesson in his mind that, for a Jedi, there was no such thing as luck.

"Lucky shot, my ass. Just take the compliment, alright?"

Luke laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks."

"You should go talk to Narra. Now that the celebration is over, he's gonna want to do something with the leftover pilots."

"Yeah, he mentioned something to me earlier," Luke admitted. Commander Arhul Narra of Renegade Squadron had indeed approached Luke after the medal ceremony with the opportunity to lead his own group of pilots. Luke had acted gracious and honored, of course, but in truth he was somewhat petrified. "It's just…I just got here and they're already throwing all this stuff at me. What if I screw up?"

"Well, Skywalker, let me tell you the secret to success in the military."

"What's that?"

"An exemplary Executive Officer," he replied, linking his hands behind his head.

"Ah. You know where I can get one of those?" Luke deadpanned. Wedge glared at him and Luke broke into a grin, unable to keep a straight face. "Of course I want you to help me, Wedge! You're the closest friend I've got here, besides Leia and Han, of course. But I still don't know why I should be leading anything. You've been here longer than me."

"That don't mean anything in the Alliance. We're not the Empire—we reward based on merit and skill. And you've got both."

"Thanks, Wedge."

"Just remember all these nice things I'm saying when it comes time to assign the less appealing squadron duties."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And besides, I could never be a squadron leader. I hate paperwork."

"I'll keep that in mind, too." Luke paused, taking another drink. "You got any ideas on who we could fill out a squadron with? I doubt we have enough for a full roster of twelve just yet."

"Well there's you and me, obviously. Definitely Hobbie Klivian and Wes Janson." Luke nodded at Wedge's mention of the two pilots who'd been deemed too sick to fly over the Death Star—possibly the only two men who'd felt more survivor's guilt than Wedge himself.

"What about Zev Senesca and Dack Ralter?" Luke suggested, naming two of the newer pilots who'd just arrived at the base.

"Zev, definitely," Wedge agreed. "Not sure about Ralter. He seems a little young, don't you think?"

"He is, but he's got a lot of potential. I think with the right training, he'd be a good sixth man."

"Well then, that seems like a good bunch to me. You should go talk to Narra tomorrow, let him know that you've already assembled the new Red Flight, and were drunk when doing so, to boot!"

"Very funny. But seriously, I don't want to use the Red Squadron name. I think it should be retired."

Wedge nodded, suddenly serious. "You're right. Got any ideas?"

"Well," Luke started. "We'll be flying with the Renegades…so what about the Rogues?"

"Rogues." Wedge let the word play on his lips, then nodded. "I like it. Rogue Flight it is!"

The two men exchanged handshakes, confirming their new flight roster, name, and wing assignments, all under the fuselage of two badly carbon scored X-wings. During a lull in the conversation, Luke leaned over to Wedge conspiratorially. "Hey, by the way…if you want to serve as my XO, there's something you need to know."

"What's that? You're actually Darth Vader's son?"

Involuntarily, Luke's eyes narrowed and he took a sharp intake of breath. He called on the Force to make the anger rising up inside of him dissipate away, knowing that Wedge had not meant anything by his joke; after all, the Corellian didn't yet know the truth about Vader having killed Luke's father. He wasn't ready to divulge that part of his family history just yet.

Forcing himself to breathe steadily, Luke refocused and shook his head slowly at his friend. "Nope. It's much more serious than that."

"Now you're scaring me."

"You should be scared. See, my leadership style is to delegate all of my paperwork to my XO."

"…That's just cruel, Luke."

Luke grinned. "Gotcha, Antilles."

Wedge leaned back and barked out a laugh, slapping Luke on the shoulder. "You know, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership."

"It already is, Wedge. It already is."