a/n: and so we begin. this is an installment in the Identity 'verse, not a sequel. perhaps that sounds like semantics, but let me be superstitious. sequels usually suck; anthologies fare better (i can only hope). refresher notes: this story 'verse operates on the following timeline:
ANH (0 ABY), then, three years later, ESB (3 ABY), then, one year (ish) later, ROTJ (4 ABY), with Leia's age in ANH as 19, and her age finishing ROTJ (in my book, based on the assumption she has a birthday, as 23).
thus within this next installment, Leia has turned 25. per the end of Identity, Leia and Han were married, and within the year that Bail & co. adjusted to life post-Alderaan, New Republic control was codified institutionally and in the form of a ratified new constitution, though of course governments are always working, always in motion. as illustrated in the prologue, Bail and Luke have approached the Naberries to engender a reunion. some themes here are taken from Tatooine Ghosts, and The Truce at Bakura (EU books) but the only canon ascribed to is the OT (+ prequels).
this story 'verse continues to be AU.
One
6 ABY
There was a flurry of activity in the apartment. The workday was mostly over – mostly, in that Leia Organa Solo was still accepting comm and holo calls if they were deemed pressing; however, the chronometers would soon tick over to an hour indicating the day was truly over, and her afternoon of working from home would neatly pass into the start of a two week leave of absence.
Officially, the Ambassador would be on vacation time, though Leia herself was wary of calling the trip a vacation – vacation implied relaxation, sweet nothingness, and little personal stress and distraction; this impending time away from work was unlikely to be so – unburdened.
Her honeymoon – now that had been unburdened, perhaps the first truly blissful stretch of time she had experienced since the day she turned nineteen. She still thought about it frequently, and she was sure she would for years to come – though for now, it was fresh in her memory, as it had been a mere six months since that time secluded on Corellia.
Six months – it felt like forever, and at the same time, it felt like the blink of an eye. It felt like nothing had changed, and it felt like everything had changed – a year and a half ago, she had been Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, interim New Republic Ambassador At-Large; she'd been barely twenty-four, struggling with the shadow of her ancestry and the loss she'd suffered during the war, bearing the burden of being the last member of her house; she'd been living with Han, fighting odds that went against their relationship –
- Now, presently, she was Leia Organa Solo, last Princess of Alderaan, permanent – for the term, at least – New Republic Ambassador At-Large; she was twenty-five, newly christened Commissioner of the Galactic Reconciliation Corps, coping with the shadow of her ancestry in a manner that was balanced, rather than suffocating; she was married to Han, and the detractors had been silenced by the vows she'd spoken, the necklace around her throat and the blessing of the Viceroy of Alderaan himself – Bail Organa, returned from certain death.
Her father, along with the rest of the Alderaanians who had languished in the unnatural, suspended hell their ship had been thrust into upon the planet's destruction, had been back in the present for almost a year and a half. They thrived – and struggled – in various states of existence, and both Bail and Rouge, as the last heads of House Organa, found increased purpose in leading the community, while Leia integrated threads of so many worlds and experiences and guided them progressively into the new world order.
She did it with determination, with distinction – and with considerable faith in the future.
The successes and advancements in the political arena – in her career, and in the New Republic overall, demanded a sort of balance in her personal life; she had Luke to remind her that she owed it to herself to continue confronting their bloodline and keeping her head in the right place, and she still had obstacles to overcome there.
Her brother had so patiently waited for her to bask in her post-wedding euphoria, and to seize on the triumph of the blooming democratic government, and so it had come to be her turn to acquiesce to what he needed – he often reminded her that she needed it, too; that they would all find healing and answers in this – and that was why she found herself handling last-minute official dealings with her office while packing and organizing things for the vacation to Naboo.
Later this evening, she and Han would leave Coruscant to join Luke and Bail at the Naberrie family estate in the Nubian Lake Country.
Bail, in keeping with his offer almost a year earlier to be the bridge between Luke, Leia, and their birth mother's family, had departed for Theed almost two weeks ago. There he had connected with Luke, who was up to his ears in research on Sheev Palpatine and his early connections with the Sith in the Naboo Archives, and they had gone on to the Naberrie estate.
Leia had introduced Pooja Naberrie to Luke, and orchestrated her father's visit to Naboo through Pooja as well – and it was quite a bit of subtle maneuvering and dancing around that was intended to be as unassuming and unthreatening as possible.
Leia had a – deeply personal desire to be as gentle with the Naberries as she possibly could, and for all his aching to know his roots, Luke did as well; they both knew all too well what it was like to be ruthlessly shocked with the truth about Darth Vader.
And so it stood that Bail Organa undertook the daunting task of shedding light on the shadowy circumstances that surrounded Padmé Naberrie's death; Luke went with him, ever a calming, peaceful presence, and perhaps to be the living face of the story – and after a handful of days filled with loud radio silence and apprehension on Leia's part, her father called to tell her the Naberries were receptive to forging ties.
That was that; Leia took a deep breath, submitted the leave she had tentatively placed on hold, and braced herself for the oncoming – maelstrom.
She stood near the holovision in the living room now, one arm wrapped around her middle, the other propped on her elbow, fingers brushing her forehead as she watched the Media scrawl across the screen in front of her, and half-listened to the words her assistant was relating to her.
Semi-summer, cooling breeze wafted in from the open balcony window, and Leia frowned.
"No, for all intents and purposes, Winter will be in charge of that," she murmured, answering Tavska's question.
Her assistant made a neat note on a scheduling pad.
"Noted. Dansra Beezer is still to be your proxy in any military ceremonies, medal requests – et cetera?" Tavska asked, moving down the list.
"Yes," Leia agreed, "ah – please remind me to leave her a note of encouragement," she added, smiling absently - Dansra had seemed anxious and overwhelmed to be ask to stand in for the Princess in any capacity, and Leia wanted her reassured.
"Can you re-confirm the cut-off level within the hierarchy?" Tavska continued politely, making more notes. "Lowest ranking members who you will be open to contact with while on leave?"
Leia, eyes on the holo for a moment, frowned, without answering –
Two female newscasters, gossiping – Well, it's not out of line to assume the Princess may be taking personal time for, ah, medical reasons – Oh, you think she's pregnant? I wondered how long it would take – that honeymoon stage, you know - !
Leia flicked her eyes up towards her lashes, gritting her teeth, and turned her head back, clearing her throat.
"Heads of State," she murmured in response, shaking herself a little, "as well as New Republic confirmed Ambassadors only – no calls from those who have not been vetted and approved, most of them are only asking for me to vouch on their behalf," she said a little tensely – "Any former Alliance High Command is authorized," she said, pausing to think if she was leaving anyone out – "Family, of course," she gestured around; both Winter and Rouge were around here somewhere, "Chewbacca," she said slowly, and then nodded emphatically –"Yes, that's it."
Anyone else who was important to her would be present on Naboo – and other issues could pend until she returned.
Leia put a hand to her head, glancing at the holo screen again – there was another comment about whether or not she was going to have a baby – kriff, she was barely married – every time someone mentioned it she felt this awful, pulling tension in her chest –
"Ahhh," Leia mumbled, trying to catch her train of thought.
Tavska stood in front of her, calm and patient as always, her eyes held at the perfect sort of angle – she was looking at Leia expectantly, but not demandingly, and she wasn't looking away in awkward avoidance, either.
Leia stared at the holo for a moment – so much of the Media blitz regarding herself and Han had fizzled after they married and the drama seemed to have died down, but it wasn't before the boredom of relative galactic peace re-focused their attention on the personal lives of public figures –
Chewie roared something from his hammock room, and then, abruptly, the holo screen Leia was staring at flicked off into darkness. She blinked, taken aback, and felt a hand on her shoulder.
Without a word, Han leaned down and kissed her temple, lingering there for a moment, his touch steadying. Leia breathed out, and blinked at Tavska pointedly.
"Effective tomorrow morning, Winter is, essentially, me," Leia said. "Rouge is the acting Bail Organa," she said, almost comically. She paused, and glanced towards the kitchen, where her aunt was doing – Sith knew what. "She's a figurehead, and I think she knows that."
Tavska nodded blithely.
"Miss Verlaine is the real Bail, yes?" she clarified.
Leia nodded – her father had taken Evaan Verlaine to his staff after she had retired from her position with the intelligence corps. He remembered her from the days she was personally mentored by Breha, and she was an excellent resource for him as he handled his position as Viceroy in the context of the homeless Diaspora.
Han put both of his hands on Leia's shoulders and started rubbing lightly, insistently.
"Leia," he drawled, almost edgily.
"Yes, yes; alright," she sighed, glancing at a chronometer. "What was that last order of business, Tavska?" she asked – hadn't one communiqué come in, just as they were finishing up? Leia was sure she had heard it.
Tavska hesitated.
"It's not an order of business, Your Highness," she said quietly, pulling the datapad to her chest and crossing her arms across it. "It's notifications on the buzzwords you asked me to flag – there are some questions brewing about why you're going to Naboo in unofficial capacity, but they do not seem particularly rabid and, ah, there's no undue interest," she explained.
Leia nodded, and Tavska inclined her head at the now blank holo screen.
"It all appears to be an extension of that kind of gossip," she remarked mildly.
Leia's shoulders tensed, and she knew Han felt it; he stopped moving his hands for a moment, and then just pressed down soothingly. He pulled his hands off her, and she felt his fingertips brush her neck as he stepped away.
"Yes; well I'm afraid they'll be disappointed," Leia said crisply, inclining her head at her assistant. "Thank you, Tavska," she dismissed kindly.
Tavska gave a low bow, and inclined her head twice – respectfully to Han and Leia each – before turning to gather her things and begin taking leave. Leia watched her a moment – Tavska herself did not know why Leia was taking a personal trip to Naboo, but the blessing about her was she did not care; she was as loyal and tactful as Leia could ever hope for – and then she turned to Han, shaking her head.
She grit her teeth, and he caught her shoulders again, smiling a little. He dropped a kiss to her forehead again. She paused a moment, closing her eyes, but gently shook him off.
"I'm going to change," she murmured.
"Ignore the press," Han said bluntly, shrugging at her.
She gave him an irritable look and pushed her hair back, leaving the room – he seemed so, so unbothered by the constant speculation, and yet it rattled her more than she'd like to admit – she wanted to work, enjoy her marriage, and these strangers, these vultures, wanted her to confront questions she wasn't ready to ask herself yet –
Leia made her way into the master bedroom, where Han had allegedly been packing their things for the journey – in actuality, it simply looked like a hurricane had charged through their bedroom, and Leia rolled her eyes. She stood by the bed and ruffled through a bunch of the clothing he had out, searching for something comfortable to wear on the flight.
Slipping out of her formal dress, she stood in her underwear and plucked through half-heartedly folded clothing, seeking a specific t-shirt – with her other hand, she rubbed absentmindedly at her lower abdomen, just where the hem of her panties rested.
She frowned as she pulled out the t-shirt, shaking herself – no, Han was right; she should be ignoring the press. She always had before – she was professionally trained to handle them – it just so happened that this sort of gossip struck a nerve with her.
Leia pulled the t-shirt over her head, slipping off the strapless corset-type bra she had been wearing and neglecting to put another one on, and she pulled on a pair of worn leather trousers. She cuffed the hems to keep them from getting caught under her heels, and let out a breath, shaking her head – no point in dwelling on obnoxious, nosy pressures from the press; she had daunting issues to face, she had family to meet – family history to excavate and dirty laundry to air.
Chewbacca and Han were arguing somewhere, and Leia shoved around some clothing options with another roll of her eyes, adjusting both suitcases. She was about to leave when she caught sight of a flash of red fabric in Han's suitcase, and frowned, stepping up to grab it.
She hooked the bikini bottom around her finger and glared, shaking her head – she smirked a little and returned it to a drawer in her closet; she had told Han numerous times that no matter how secluded the Lake Country was she would not be donning the honeymoon bikini, and here he was, trying to sneak it in.
She neatly replaced it with her conservative option, a nice, dark green one-piece that tied around the neck, and then threw some of Han's clothes on top so he wouldn't notice.
"Han," she called, making her way out of the bedroom.
He met her in the hall, leaving his argument with Chewie.
"I asked you to pack," she noted.
"Yeah, I was – gettin' there," he said sheepishly.
Leia arched a brow, amused.
"What's wrong with Chewie?"
"Oh, nothin'," Han said. "He said I was sassin' Aunt Rouge."
"Were you?"
Han gave her an innocent look, and pointed to himself, silently mouthing – me? Leia grinned, shook her head, and patted his side, pointing him back into the bedroom to finish packing – she'd take care of her own stuff, mostly, in a moment, but he'd have to go get the Falcon ready here soon.
"I wasn't," Han said loudly, hoping Rouge would hear him. "All I did was walk into the kitchen."
"I had to see that ghastly mess of a face," Rouge retorted.
Leia leaned against the wall in the hallway for a moment, looking after Han, and he drew his hand across his jaw proudly, tapping his chin with a smirk – in classic Han Solo fashion, he had been out a few days ago with some of the guys from the Rogue Squadron, and he happened to run across an old, ah, acquaintance who had a score to settle.
Leia tilted her head, and winked fetchingly.
"I think it's dashing," she whispered, affecting a swoon before she pushed off the wall and made her way to the kitchen.
Han's charming – You should see the other guy! – Response to Rouge's outraged shrieking at his somewhat public brawl, as well as his scraped up jaw and shining black eye, had done nothing to assuage how offended she was that he would dare connect Leia with such base behavior, even by association, and thus his very presence currently counted as purposely antagonizing her.
Leia would say that broadly, overall, Rouge's feelings towards Han could be classified as accepting – pleasant, even, and bordering on fond – however, she was still prone to fits of shock over his brasher nature, and she had an irritating habit of withdrawing into snobby moods. It was a process – it was all a process, even so many months later – and Han did almost maniacally enjoy getting on Rouge's nerves.
She shook her head and rounded the corner.
"Aunt Rouge," she began, leaning against the counter – her aunt was occupied in the kitchen, idling about; she had come over to see them off, and even if Leia found everyone's presence to be a small nuisance, it was cozy, and homey.
Rouge set down a bottle of wine she was admiring – a sparkling white that had been given to her niece by a Sultan from Malastare - and turned around to look at Leia pleasantly. She abruptly put a hand to her chest and stumbled back, her eyes widening.
"Good heavens, what are you wearing?"
Leia blinked. She glanced down at her attire – for Sith's sake, one would think she had walked into the kitchen completely naked.
"It's a t-shirt," Leia supplied.
Rouge eyed her, appalled – she had seen Leia in casual clothing before, of course; nice, silk long-sleeved shirts with demure necks, made for reclining with close family members of friends, but this – this was an atrocity, in her refined eyes.
"It's my t-shirt," Han yelled from down the hall, obviously amused by what he was overhearing.
"You're going to wear that out?" Rouge asked – or rather, demanded, clearly immensely put off by the very idea.
Leia lifted a brow.
"I'm going to wear it on the Falcon," she replied blandly.
"It's filthy!"
"It isn't," Leia said, plucking at a hole in the sleeve blithely. "It's just worn. I think Han got it when he was my age."
"What if someone were to see you in that?" Rouge asked faintly, holding her palm out – there were cartoonish bloodstripes down the side, along her ribs, and the front was emblazoned with an image that advertised a Corellian amber ale.
"I expect the galactic order would collapse and Sheev Palpatine would rise from the depths of his fiery grave to personally chastise me," Leia retorted, deadpan.
Rouge scowled at her.
"You cannot wear that out, Leia!"
"I'm wearing it on the trip. It's comfortable," she said patiently. "It's fine enough for the Falcon."
"Don't worry, Aunt Rouge, I'll take it off her on the ship," Han yelled.
Rouge huffed at Leia.
"Why is he like that?"
"Why do you still react to him?" Leia retorted, amused.
Winter slumped against the doorframe, reappearing from a quick brief she'd had with Tavska before the assistant left, and joining in the conversation enthusiastically.
"Why has no one thrown my shirt, and myself, onto a dirty ship floor lately?" she lamented, drawing Rouge's scandalized attention immediately.
Rouge gave her a piercing look.
"Winter, will you please refrain from speaking like that. You'll start gossip about yourself," she snapped. "There will be rumors."
Rouge said 'rumors' in such a way that it managed to convey her concern for Winter's chastity, which of course, brought small, slightly suppressed smiles to the younger women's lips.
Winter draped herself against the door dramatically.
"Aunt Rouge, I'm just – so distraught, I fear I'll be an old maid!" she simpered.
Rouge gave her a sharp look.
"You have plenty of time. You have a nice man courting you, and he can wait."
Winter flung out her hand accusingly, teasing Leia.
"She didn't wait!" she hissed. "She let a man – "
"Bail is not here to stop me from popping you in the mouth," Rouge said loudly.
Winter folded her arms, and smiled wryly, shaking her head affectionately. She turned her head to Leia and lifted her brows a little, beckoning over her elbow.
Leia nodded, and stepped up to put her hands on Rouge's shoulders. She stood on her toes to give her aunt a small hug, and brush a kiss to her cheek.
"Don't smack Winter; she's only having fun," she murmured.
Rouge sniffed derisively, and shot them a look. She folded a hand towel near her and took a step back.
"I am going to go ensure Han has packed you some decent clothing," she said narrowly, stepping around Leia – though not before patting her hand gently and giving her a smile.
Leia met Winter in the kitchen doorway, and they looked down the hall.
"Well, how do we think that interaction is going to go?" Winter asked, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Hmm," Leia drawled, tilting her head towards her friend's. "I expect Rouge to choose very neat, well-put together outfits for me, and I expect Han to offend her by insisting I won't need any underwear packed."
"Ah, I disagree," Winter returned, holding up her hand in imitation of a thoughtful academic, "I propose that Han will be showing her all of the extravagant lingerie you wear for him."
Leia laughed, and Winter took her elbow, pulling her into the living room. Chewbacca gave a mild roar of greeting, looking up from the rucksack he was tightening on the decorative table – he was bundling up the candles Leia had left on the table for him to take to Malla.
"Hold on a moment, Winter," Leia murmured. "Chewie – I know candles are, ah, likely an absurdity on Kashyyyk, but those are from an Alderaanian candle maker – they burn extremely cleanly – "
[I am sure Malla will love them, Little Princess,] Chewbacca murmured warmly. [Absurdity or not, she is always fascinated with the off world gifts you send her.]
Leia beamed – Chewie was off to visit his family for the two weeks she and Han would be on Naboo, and Leia had taken care to send some things along with him for his mate and cub. Despite not seeing either of them since the wedding, she had never forgotten how kind and welcoming both Malla and Lumpy had been to her, and she had sent them small trinkets more than once – on the occasion of Lumpy's birthday, and on the occasion of Malla and Chewbacca's anniversary which he had, of course, missed, despite Han's annoyed insistence that he go home for it.
The life debt precluded frivolous holidays – but Leia had prevailed upon him finally, this time, and Chewbacca understood; Han was in virtually no danger on a world as innocuous as Naboo, and the Wookiee would be a bit out of place in the impending situation.
"Are you heading out?" Leia asked.
[Soon,] Chewie answered. He straightened and eyed the hall warily. [Perhaps I will go make sure Han does not disgrace himself around your aunt.]
"Too late," Winter snorted, smiling warmly at the Wookiee.
Leia sighed and turned to Winter as Chewie ambled down the hall. She arched her brows, sitting down on the edge of the sofa arm and peering up at her foster sister expectantly.
"Would you mind if I stayed in your apartment for a night here and there?" Winter asked, folding her arms loosely. "I know you've asked me to look after it again – "
Leia nodded, lifting her shoulders simply.
"I wouldn't mind – of course," she agreed. She cocked a brow. "Rouge driving you insane?"
Winter lifted her eyes.
"It isn't her," she said. "Well, she's – she doesn't have Pasha to fuss over, so it all goes on me," she confessed, wincing. "I don't mind much, though; she gets so anxious, and I think she's very nervous without family near her," she assessed.
Leia nodded, frowning slightly.
"Tycho is back on Coruscant tomorrow," Winter confided. She gestured vaguely towards the back bedroom. "Regardless of how I like to tease her, I do like to respect Rouge in theory, and I can't sneak him in – "
"His place?" Leia asked quietly.
"Ahhh, he's a single male in the military; he uses barracks housing," Winter said with a frown. "I'm an adventurous gal, but I'm not about to put on a show for half the former Rebel Alliance."
"You really need to get your own apartment," Leia said lightly, and Winter put a hand to her head dramatically.
"Yes, I know, I just can't pick one," she groaned at herself – which was the running issue; Winter was actively trying to find her own place, but she was finding herself to be frighteningly choosy about settling.
She sat down heavily on the sofa, shaking her head.
"I think I am – possibly – wary of leaving the – nest," she said, with a self-aware grimace. She frowned, closing her eyes. "It was myself, Bail, and Rouge for so long," she trailed off.
Leia nodded, and reached out to rub her knee.
"Well, you're welcome to bring Tycho over," she said. "I like the two of you together."
"He's a dashing thing, isn't he?" Winter said fondly.
Leia nodded, and then thrust out her finger, pointing at Winter seriously.
"There's a spare bedroom," she said, narrowing her eyes authoritatively.
Winter smirked.
"Do not have sex in my bed," Leia ordered.
Winter clasped her hands to her chest.
"I would never – "
"You did," hissed Leia, "you did on Alderaan, you – brat – "
"Technically," Winter said, lifting her chin primly, "the bed in your room at the Autumn Castle was an Antilles family heirloom."
Leia did not look amused. She pointed at Winter again for good measure, and lowered her chin, refusing to let Winter look away.
"Do not have sex in my bed," she repeated.
Winter held up her hands, capitulating – she nodded, and Leia relaxed her shoulders, giving Winter a lingering glare for good measure. She actually had been angry about that little stunt, back when they were eighteen, and she would absolutely take offense to anyone in the bed that she considered strictly hers and Han's.
They both turned their heads at the sound of an annoyed huff, and Rouge stormed into the room, smacking her hands together as if she was washing them off. Han strolled in after her, and Chewie followed, glaring vaguely at both of them.
Rouge shot a stiff glare at Leia.
"I don't know what you see in him," she said snippily.
"Aw, Aunt Rouge," Han drawled, leaning against the living room wall. He grinned, turning his head to accentuate his black eye.
"He is insisting you do not need – that you do not wear – undergarments," Rouge began tensely.
Winter tilted her head.
"You were right," she conceded to Leia.
Leia shrugged.
"I know him well," she sighed, before turning a mild look of reprimand on Han. She tilted her head, and pressed her lips together pointedly. "Han. Stop."
Chewbacca gave a sarcastic growl to reinforce Leia – [I told you, you're pushing your luck, Cub.]
He ignored Chewie, and grinned at her, shrugging, and nodding obediently.
"I don't know why you insist he needs to go on this trip," Rouge said, shifting on her feet edgily. "He looks like he's just been released from prison," Han rolled his eyes, and Leia watched a little uncertainly, unsure if Rouge and Han were about to go from their sort of friendly bickering to actual tension – "with those – injuries on his face – and he can't comport himself decently," she trailed off, folding her arms.
Leia leaned back a little, crossing one leg over the other. Her toes dangled, brushing the carpet without resting on it.
"He's my husband," she said pointedly. She furrowed her brow slightly. "There's no scenario where Han doesn't go to Naboo to meet these people, Aunt Rouge," she continued pointedly. "He's my family."
"We are your family," Rouge said, putting her palm to her chest with agitation. She ran her hand up to her neck and plucked at loose strands of her braid, shaking her head – Winter sighed, and Leia shared a subdued look with her –
Rouge was struggling with the idea of the Naberries in her own way; perhaps she viewed it as losing Leia to a more real sense of blood, though Leia hardly imagined ever feeling that way. When she said we like that – Leia understood it to mean Organa, Alderaan – a hostile sort of push-back against anyone else who wanted to be Leia's family, and it was endearing, if a little unfair to the Naberries, as they'd been jilted, as far as family went, without their knowledge.
She didn't like the idea of Leia's extended family, and she was vehemently opposed to the idea of anyone being brought into the fold concerning the secret of Leia's parentage – she knew it was a battle she was going to lose, and was already losing, but it was still a sore spot.
"Aunt Rouge," Leia said softly – kindly. "I barely know Pooja Naberrie. I've never met any of the others. I grew up with you," she said simply. "That will never change."
Rouge sighed. She put her hands to her face thoughtfully, and then smoothed her hair down, composing herself, and nodding.
"I have no doubt you'll charm them," she said, if a bit resigned. "As for your husband," she said, almost scathingly, shooting a glowering look at Han, "he needs a healthy dose of finishing school."
Leia nodded solemnly.
"I promise you that I will give him some finishing tonight."
Rouge nodded curtly, turning to Winter – the comment went entirely over her head, but Han cast a delighted look at Leia, amused by the brazen joke and the prospect.
Rouge sighed vaguely and folded her arms, remarking, without a second thought –
"You ought to consider what little heathens your children will likely be," she said, gesturing lazily at Han, "with him as their father."
Han did move forward at that comment, his brow darkening.
"Hey," he snapped, and even he himself wasn't immediately sure if he reacted aggressively because he was personally offended, or because he knew, he knew, Leia was beyond hypersensitive to that kind of talk and he did not want the start of their trip ruined –
Leia looked shocked for a moment, and then her eyes turned cold, her jaw pulling tight.
"Han is the last of my worries," she said icily. She stood up, holding up a hand, palm out, to placate Han a little. She tilted her hand a few times slightly as if gesturing Han to step back – please, Han, let me handle this; it's better if it's me. "Aunt Rouge, you are more than welcome to snark back and forth with Han; I know he instigates it, and I know the both of you find some common ground in it, but you are not entitled to disrespect him."
Leia stopped for a moment, making sure Rouge was listening – there was a certain point when irreverent bickering became genuinely unacceptable, and she felt her aunt was out of line to insult Han's – to insult Han like that.
"Han is not an aristocrat, but that does not make him a lesser man. I would never have married someone who wouldn't be a good father."
Han eased back against the wall, silenced more by her last words more than anything else. He glanced to the side at Rouge, and Winter shook her head, blinking reproachfully.
"That was almost cruel, Rouge," she said calmly.
There was a small silence, and then Chewie spoke with a gentle tone, holding up one arm to sling his rucksack over his shoulder. He perched it on the bowcaster, notched it to his bandolier and inclined his head.
[It is normal for tensions to run hot before space travel and high stress events,] he said quietly. [I think it is time we leave Han and Leia to their final arrangements for the trip.]
Winter nodded in agreement. She stepped forward to give Leia a hug.
Squeezing her tightly, she gave Leia a chaste kiss on the cheek and stepped back to give her an encouraging look.
"You'll be okay," she said quietly – she knew how concerned Leia was about meeting these people, and how could she not be? The Naberries were being given the pieces of a puzzle they had likely given up on for all eternity, and on the heels of a finished puzzle, they had living, breathing Leia, and Luke.
Winter smiled firmly.
"They'll think the world of you," she said proudly.
Leia scoffed a little, as if to imply she wasn't worried about what they would think of her – but it was unconvincing, and she gave Winter a grateful smile, letting her step back fully from the hug.
Chewbacca, done warbling his goodbyes – and warnings about behavior – to Han, stepped forward to hug Leia and ruffle her hair a little, and then Leia turned to her aunt.
"We aren't going to part on bad terms," she said neutrally.
Rouge stepped forward and placed her hands on Leia's cheeks.
"I don't have an excuse for myself," she said, her voice shaking. "Lelila, I shouldn't have said that."
Leia nodded in silent agreement, and then smiled gently. She hugged Rouge, kissed her cheek, and stepped back. Rouge nodded, turned to leave with Winter, and then stopped. She set her shoulders back and went around the sofa to Han, taking a deep breath.
"I was discourteous," she said.
Han almost laughed. Propping his foot against the wall behind him to support himself better, he shrugged. He really wasn't that concerned about Rouge's snobbery these days; there was nothing she could do to sever his relationship with Leia at this point.
He just – he grit his teeth a little; he wished she hadn't said something that would dig right into Leia's neurosis on the genetics thing –
"I got thick skin," he said, in answer to Rouge.
She nodded, understanding that such a response was his form of polite absolution. She hesitantly reached out and patted his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and then stepped back, giving another smile to both of them – she, Winter, and Chewbacca left – and Han and Leia remained, amidst wide-open balcony doors and a bedroom full of half-packed clothing.
Leia sat back down on the arm of the sofa and turned to him, looking at him warily for a moment before she tilted her head back and stared straight up at the ceiling – exasperated, or anxious, or perhaps just simply – tired.
He pushed off the wall and came forward, sliding his fingers into her hair loosely. He started to run his fingertips over her scalp, and she closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.
"Hey," he said gently. "You ready to get goin', Princess?"
Frowning honestly, she shook her head, and he grinned, moving his hand down and pinching her ear gently. He tugged on it, and she opened one eye and glared at him, snapping her teeth impishly.
He kissed her nose.
"I'll go get the Falcon ready," he said gruffly. "Finish up packing?"
She nodded silently, and he slid his hands from her hair, heading off – she heard him get his boots, then get a couple of other things, and then he walked back through the living room and left the apartment for the private hangar.
Leia stared at the closed door for a moment, and then she reached forward and picked up the holo clicker off the table. She pointed it directly at the receiver box and turned the silver screen back on.
Barefoot and barely clothed, Leia crossed the main hold on her tiptoes, walking lightly to avoid letting her heels hit the cold floor. She climbed into the worn seat circling the Dejarik table and crawled the length of it until she was right up against Han's side.
He lifted his arm and she leaned into him, her back half against the back of the seat, half nestled into his side. She tucked her robe around her, stretching out her legs and crossing them at the ankle, and rested her head back contently. Han let his hand fall and drape over her shoulder, his wrist brushing the side of her breast. He ran his fingers over the soft material of the robe – wool from Kashyyyk, and the best kind of fabric for keeping warm in space.
He leaned forward and, with his other hand, pushed her glass of wine closer to her.
"Hmm," Leia murmured, turning her head slightly and eyeing it. "I believe this has been refilled."
"Live a little," Han advised.
"You just want to get me tipsy."
"I was hopin' you'd get drunk and sleep with me."
She laughed.
Leia reached out and brushed her fingers along the base of the glass, looking for a moment at the dusty, cracked, and worn old datapad sitting on the Dejarik table. She sighed and relaxed into Han a little more to settle in for the night – or at least for a little while longer before they headed to bed. The familiar hum of the Falcon's hyperdrive, purring as if it hadn't a care in the world, seemed to ease all of the tension in her, and the faint rhythm of Han's heartbeat reinforced the relative peace of the evening.
"How's Luke?" Han asked after a comfortable silence.
She shifted her head, curling her fingers around the stem of her glass and picking it up.
"He's fine," she murmured. "He says, you know," she shrugged. "Things have been nice, cordial. They're expecting us."
"Yeah, unless the old girl gives me any trouble, we'll dock on Naboo in their morning," Han grunted, looking up and around the main fold menacingly for a moment, as if glaring his ship into submission. He leaned forward a little to pick up his glass of whiskey and finish the last of it. "Cordial?" Han quoted skeptically.
Leia took a sip of wine, shrugging.
"I don't know what else they would be," she said honestly.
Han set his glass down and swept his arm around, hugging her loosely for a moment. He released her, ran a hand back through his hair, and slouched down, leaning his head back and rolling it to look down at her.
"You still feelin' okay about all this?" he asked.
Leia tilted her head back, and looked at him through her lashes a moment before straightening a little and sipping on her wine quietly. She bit lightly against the rim of her glass before answering.
"Well, I'm resolved to do it," she said slowly. "I know…that it needs to be done. It's part of a process," she continued. "I don't know if I feel okay. I – well, I don't know," she said simply.
Han ran his hand over her shoulder for a moment, listening.
She held her glass against her chest, then reached up with her other hand and rubbed her forehead.
"I can't help feeling like we're just, we've just ambushed them," she said, frowning.
Han nodded. He shrugged a little.
"You did it the best way, I reckon," he said – it wasn't as if Luke and Leia had shown up on the doorstep one day, blurted out the whole story, and expected to be welcomed into the fold.
Han thought the whole process had been rather painstaking. Leia had worked to create a good professional relationship with Pooja Naberrie; Luke had made several transparent visits to Naboo to go through archival records of the vanquished Emperor. Winter, working out of the Alderaanian branch of Leia's office, had been spearheading a commission in tandem with Pooja to re-instate and un-blacklist countless thousands of individuals and families that had enraged the Empire so, at least sparsely, the Naberrie name had been in the news of late.
Bail had then begun the process of reaching out – not altogether unnatural, as he had known their daughter, and she was now exonerated publicly, and he and Luke had made the first steps – and thus it was all arranged.
"Yes, I think we handled it as best we could," she agreed quietly. "I suppose there's no way it wouldn't feel like an ambush," she mused. She started to take a drink, and then paused. "I mean – I've complained in the past about how Luke told me about Vader, but there's no scenario I can imagine in which it would have gone well."
Han snorted a little – she had a point there.
"Maybe I should have been there," Leia ventured hesitantly, feeling a little guilty.
Her father truly had been the best, possibly most neutral option to be their link to the Naberries; he was the one who had organized back then, and could speak personally to the events, but Luke had so earnestly wanted to be there, to personally tell them how Vader had died as Anakin Skywalker, and Leia had balked both at sitting there as if she were completely at ease with that part of the story, and at overwhelming these poor people who had – who had no idea what was coming –
Leia sighed, making an effort to calm her ceaseless nerves – she thought of Winter, and her bright, effervescent attitude about the whole thing –
"Well, look at the bright side," Winter had chirped pleasantly, on the evening Bail had called to say they were sitting down with the Naberries. "They're about to find out their son in law was Darth Vader."
"How is that a bright side?"
"It's highly unlikely they'll hate Han."
Leia laughed and rested her head on Winter's shoulder, distracted for a moment.
"Nah," Han said, cutting into her thoughts and reinforcing her choice to leave it mostly to her brother. "Luke's got that calming presence thing."
"I'm calm."
Han laughed. Leia elbowed him gently, smiling. She sipped on her wine, thinking of her quick conversation with Luke, and the tiny glimpse she'd gotten of the room he was staying in at the Naberries grand Lake Country mansion.
"Besides," Han said gruffly, "Luke needs the practice in answering the questions about Vader if you're really gonna go public."
His tone took on an edge at the end, and Leia nodded grimly. Han still didn't think it was necessary for her to share her personal family history with the galaxy, but she maintained that it was not a shadow she would ever let hang over her – when they elect me, Han, if they elect me, they'll never be able to say I denied my truths.
"Well," Leia said heavily. "Apparently – Luke says they already knew," she said.
"Knew?" Han repeated. "About Vader?"
Leia nodded, her lips compressed. She set her wine glass aside, careful not to place it unevenly on the edge of the holopad on the table. She placed her hands over her face for a moment, and then brushed loose strands of her hair back, reaching for his arm and sort of – hugging it to her abdomen.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Luke said that towards the end, Padmé told her parents that she was with Anakin Skywalker. He said Jobal Naberrie – that's her mother," Leia clarified, "had assumed it was him all along, but Ruwee – that's her father – thought it was my father."
Han hesitated a moment.
"Hold on – what?"
Leia let out a breath, amused for a moment. She bit her lip.
"Oh, this is confusing – ah, so, bottom line, Padmé's father thought Bail Organa had knocked her up, but her mother knew it had to be Anakin."
Han arched his brows.
"The old Viceroy had a slimy reputation after he brought you home, didn't he?"
"Leave him alone," Leia said protectively, rolling her eyes. She bit back a smirk, and twisted her fingers into Han's, squeezing his hand. "Luke said they were evasive about the Vader part," she revealed quietly. "Father asked them how they knew, but they wanted to talk more about Luke and I."
"Huh," Han grunted. "They never said anything?" he asked. "All those years, they knew this hero of the Old Republic was the same guy in the black cape – "
"Would you have said something?" Leia asked hoarsely, shaking her head. "It would have been futile – what difference would it have made?" she questioned. "And they'd just buried their daughter, with her baby – or so they thought – and they had Sola, and – well Pooja, and her sister," she trailed off.
She pulled Han's hand towards her face and kissed his wrist, letting go of him and reaching for her glass again.
"I can't imagine what they think of Luke and I," she said, wary, and apprehensive. "I mean he – he all but murdered their little girl, and Luke has his eyes."
Han turned towards her a little, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.
"Bail says you have her eyes," he pointed out.
Leia closed her eyes, lashes brushing her skin lightly. She shrugged a little – she assumed these long-lost blood relatives of hers would experience the same horror and revulsion at the idea of Vader having heirs as she did at being one of Vader's heirs – and she felt they were entitled to it, like they had a right.
She was still unsure what she would get out of this – what she wanted out of it, what was fair. Luke sought closeness with family; Luke had always been searching for family, and the ties meant so much to him, lacking in those sorts of bonds as he was, but Leia, Leia had been raised safely and lovingly, she had people she called aunt, and cousin, and grandmother.
She wanted to hear them speak about Padmé Naberrie; she felt a sense of duty to learn about the woman who had given her life – who had given her to Breha, her Mama, and she wanted to find some lights in the darkness of the Skywalker legacy.
In a more detached sense, in terms of her plans to run for a term as Chief of State and openly declare her bloodline for the sake of transparency – she felt uncomfortable going forward with the announcement without knowing the Naberries, without speaking with them, forging a relationship with them, hearing their thoughts on their own history – receiving their blessing.
It was their story, too, in so many ways, and Leia, having recently seized complete control of who she was, and her own narrative, understood the importance of being able to define your own life, and speak to it.
Han cleared his throat.
"Don't worry 'bout it right now, Sweetheart," he said. "Nothin' you can do right now. Can't be that bad, eh? They want to meet you."
Leia nodded. She took a sip of her wine wordlessly and then nodded again.
"You got to remind me of all of them," Han went on dryly. "I already forgot everyone's name."
Leia smiled to herself.
"Ruwee and Jobal are her parents," she said slowly – "Hers, Padmé's. Sola is her older sister, Pooja's mother. Sola's husband is Darred, and Ryoo is their other daughter," Leia paused, tilting her head, "and – Ryoo is married to Whyler, and has," she ticked up her fingers, "Indy, Iver, and Maiah," she said, "Ten – and then the littler two are twins, five-year-olds."
Han started to say something, but Leia went on –
"Sola is an art curator; Ryoo is an interior decorator – "
"Leia," Han broke in, laughing. "Don't you think they'll be freaked out that you know all of this stuff about 'em?"
Leia lowered her hand.
"I won't tell them I know," she said, rolling her eyes. "This is what I do, Han – I know things about people before I meet them," she reminded him primly.
"You didn't know anything about me," he said smugly.
Leia ignored him, and Han sighed.
"You're gonna have to write it down," he whined. "Draw me a family tree."
She laughed a little.
"You'll just give them all nicknames," she said knowingly. She reached behind her and ran her palm over his thigh. "My comic relief," she said wryly.
"You got it, Your Worship," he said charmingly.
Leia shifted and reached for both her wine glass, and the datapad – they had been looking through it before Luke placed his call, and she'd left it with Han when she spoke to her brother. Han obviously had dimmed it and waited for her to return. Leia drew her knees up and sat the datapad against them. It balanced there, and she bit her teeth lightly on the rim of her wine glass again. She rested her hand in her lap and Han noticed her rubbing her thumb along her hip.
He shifted, brushing his knuckles along her side, pressing them lightly through her robe. His thumb ran under the curve of her breast lazily, and nudged her a little.
"Is that thing bothering you?" he asked warily, though he hesitated to bring it up.
Leia shook her head. She immediately moved her hand, ceasing the movement. She cleared her throat.
"No, I think I like it better than the other one," she murmured. "I just," she paused, "It's almost a nervous habit, checking to make sure it's there."
Han made a skeptical noise – not because of her, more directed at the device imbedded under her skin. It was a new hormone implant – her other had been a more old-fashioned one, an IUD type with a five year lifespan, the same she'd been issued when she'd enlisted in the rank and file of the Rebellion. Alliance medical corps had always made do with older devices and scavenged equipment in all aspects of medicine, and Leia had been fitted with the most advanced implant on the market about a month ago.
The efficiency on her other one had started to wear out naturally, which had entirely skewed her hormones for a brief time and given her a – scare. She'd then had a rough start with the new one, as a droid technician had expressed consternation over her hormone configuration.
Han kept moving his hand lightly over and around her breast, skirting the subject cautiously. Leia had not handled the mere chance that she could be pregnant particularly well at all, and she had reacted almost irrationally furiously to Han's attitude – his calm attitude –
Leia, Leia, it's okay, honey, we'll see what happens.
No. No. Han – I can't – I don't want to do this – I don't want it.
He had never quite figured out what she meant by that – what she was willing to do – but it was a moot point by the end of that week; physician told her it was just the normal progression of her implant, he'd replaced it – the droid had messed with her head about her allegedly odd hormone balance – and Leia went utterly silent on the subject.
Right around the time the press remembered married people sometimes reproduced.
"Still having cramps?" Han asked neutrally.
"No," she said, her voice taking on a brisk edge. "It's fine."
Han's hand stopped moving.
"Leia," he started quietly, "You said somethin' to Rouge, earlier – "
She started to pull away, her wine swirling dangerously in her glass.
"Don't start, don't start," she said rapidly. "I don't want to –"
"Easy," he soothed, backing off hastily. He pulled her back gently and kissed the back of her head. "Never mind," he said gruffly.
Leia rested back against him tensely, ready to bolt at any moment, and he swallowed his words, tucking a few irritated curse words into the back corners of his mind – damnit, Leia, this is going to have to be a talk at some point –
He filed it all away, telling himself it was just something to think about later. It wasn't anything to worry about. He didn't care either way –
She did relax again, after a long silence in which he didn't even think of finishing his sentence. She set her wine aside and then put her hands up, palms out flat, a universal signal for halt – put the brakes on.
"I need to get through this trip," she said flatly. "That's all I can think about."
Han just nodded. He cleared his throat.
"We need to," he corrected mildly.
Leia let out a breath.
"We," she agreed apologetically.
She tapped two fingers against the datapad in her lap, bringing it to life. It shimmered and blinked at her, glitching, struggling to light up – and as always, instead of it saving her page like the new, functional ones did, this one went back to its index, and she had to scroll through to the place they had been.
She shifted her head, getting comfortable against Han's side, and he picked up her wine to steal a sip, waiting for the datapad to stop its whining and fussing and rev up – back to the place they'd left off.
After a moment, a woman's voice – Shmi Skywalker's – floated through the speakers in a tinny, broken hum.
Leia jumped a little, as she always did when she turned this on –
Ani carved me an amulet before he left, the entry said, wistful, and kind, it has a protection rune on it. I believe he is the one who will need protection – he's such an earnest boy, slavery has been difficult, no doubt, it's no innocent world – but his heart is so pure, and they say Coruscant rots you from the inside –
Han wrapped his arm around Leia's shoulders loosely, pulling her close. He fell silent to listen; she never wanted to talk about what they heard Shmi say, but she always wanted him there for support – it was only a few days ago that she'd braced herself to delve into the diary Han had brought back so many months ago.
Leia closed her eyes – to reflect, not to rest. She listened to the voice of Darth Vader's mother, anxious about what she would hear, troubled by the dichotomy presented, and strangely hopeful for Shmi Skywalker, despite knowing how the tale ended –
Han noticed that her hand slipped back down to her hip and rested there gingerly, and he rested his chin on her head, listening –
- I think he'll do well with them. They say I won't hear any news. The Jedi cut all ties with family. He wants to save people, but I do wish he would just be given the chance to have a true childhood -
- and staring ahead of him at the various control panels across the main hold, his vision unfocused, wondering if he pressed his ear to Leia's hair hard enough, he might hear what was going on inside her head.
- sad as it is, say goodbye to Rouge, Chewie, and Winter for the duration of this particular story (and prep for a whole slew of new characters)
*also note: Identity's end was 6 months ago; Leia's force experience with Luke was actually about a year ago; remember that Identity has two time jumps in it
-Alexandra
story #339