Author's mea culpa: I realized that when I posted the Prologue to this story, I forgot to thank my beta's: jublke and StatsGrandma57. Let me rectify that now. They preform the daunting task of helping me make these stories readable-I couldn't do it without them. Thanks, too, to the folks who have read, reviewed and followed this story.
Supply Run
Chapter One
"I'm perfectly capable of retrieving a few supplies all on my own, your Holiness," Han snapped, looking down into Leia's stony face. At the moment her eyes had the same approximate hardness as duracrete.
"General Rieekan says this particular cargo will require some delicate negotiating."
"I know how to negotiate." His hazel eyes matched her brown ones, hardness for hardness. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I could get a better price than you could on almost anything." Han taunted the princess with a complacent smile. "I'm a smuggler," he reminded her. "It's what I do."
Leia glanced down at Han's blaster hand, which still sported a faint red welt from the burn he'd received during the last supply run they'd made together. She realized, with a twinge of distress, that if the shot had gone a few centimeters over, the Rodian thug would have blown Han's hand off, instead of just singeing it. When she raised her eyes, however, her face was bland.
"This time I think he'd prefer a little more finesse, and a little less firefight," she said derisively.
"Listen, sweetheart!" Han sputtered, wagging his finger under her nose. "If I hadn't been there, you never would have gotten your load of spare energy packs, and you wouldn't have gotten off that rock in one piece!" He spun on his heel and walked several quick paces down the corridor, before turning and walking thoughtfully back. "Unless…is this your way of getting some time alone with me, your Worship? All you have to do is ask." The lopsided grin was provoking.
Leia felt an unwelcome, though not entirely unpleasant, heat begin somewhere in her middle. It was quickly quashed. She would not give this conceited, ill-mannered scoundrel the satisfaction of a response! Certainly not the response he was looking for, at any rate.
"Captain," she said icily, "if you're not willing to take me to Ord Mantell, I'm sure I can find another, equally qualified pilot." Leia tightened her arms over her uncooperatively fluttering stomach and looked Han straight in the eye.
"You're not going to find an equally qualified pilot," Han informed her, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm the best."
Leia said nothing, merely raised her eyebrows questioningly.
The silence between them expanded, seeming to fill the icy corridor.
Leia propped her hands on her hips; her foot tapped impatiently.
"Fine!" Han snarled. "I'll take you to Ord Mantell. But only because I'm getting paid."
It was a feeble excuse, and they both knew it.
"Let me know when you're ready!" he shouted to her as he turned and headed down the corridor. "I need to talk to Rieekan before we go!"
Leia watched him leave. Even if he as a scoundrel, there was no reason she couldn't enjoy his rear view.
####
The heels of Han's boots slipped on the icy floor of the tunnel leading to Echo base's command module, but his spacer's reflexes kept him steady. Somebody needed to put down something with traction on it, he thought. An epidemic of slipping and falling would benefit no one but the Rogues, who would get weeks of jokes out of each pratfall. He skidded around one more corner and headed into the Command Center. His eyes scanned the busy room.
She wasn't there. Han released the breath he'd been holding. He'd never met an individual, male, female, or otherwise, who had ever caused him to feel this out of control. Hells! It had been nearly three years, and there were still days when he happily would have killed Princess Leia-kriffing-Organa. Of course, there were just as many days when he would have happily done other, much more pleasant things to—or rather with—her. And then there were the days when the tension, sexual or otherwise, wasn't enough. Those were the days when he looked at her, and she looked back, and there was something both gentle and electrifying between them. Those days were the ones that made him doubt his very sanity. They were the reason he needed to talk to Rieekan now.
The General wasn't in the Command Center either. A quick question and answer had him back in the chilly access corridor, heading for Rieekan's makeshift office. Han hoped the man was alone. He needed to talk about the supply run to Ord Mantell.
His hand hesitated for a heartbeat before he pressed the attention-signal and waited for a response. The door slid open with a cranky screech. Apparently the mechanism hated Hoth every bit as much as Han did.
"Solo." The general nodded and waved a casual hand, indicating the cramped room's single unoccupied chair. Another chair was piled high with flimsies and datapads. "If anyone had told me there were so many things that needed to be signed before we could actually fight this war, I would have turned down the commission in a nanosecond." There was tired humor in Rieekan's gravelly voice.
The door moaned shut.
"I've been expecting you," he continued, watching the Corellian. "I assume you've talked with the princess."
Han moved into the room, but instead of sitting, he grasped the back of the chair, his knuckles white.
"General," Han leaned forward. "Going to Ord Mantell isn't a good idea. It's a bad place. Isn't there anywhere else where you can get whatever it is you need?"
"I wouldn't pick the place for a vacation," Rieekan agreed. "But it has to be Ord Mantell."
"Why?" Han spat out. "What's there that we can't get someplace else?" Someplace that wasn't crawling with Black Sun operatives looking to make a quick score, and bounty hunters looking for Han Solo.
"Money," Rieekan said.
"Money?"
"A lot of money. Money invested and secured by the Royal House of Alderaan." The general looked up at Solo. "Bail had a number of hidden caches; he thought that would be safest." Pain marred his features for a heartbeat. "I don't think he ever guessed how right he'd be."
"Kriff!" Han dropped heavily into the chair. "And it has to be Leia?" he asked.
"She's all that's left of the Royal House of Alderaan," Rieekan pointed out. "There are certain passwords and other sureties which only Leia can provide."
"Kriff!" Han repeated. He scrubbed his hand across his face. "Leia said it was a supply run. Does she know she's going to collect what's left of the Alderaan treasury?" Han knew that the princess would do anything for the Rebellion. He also knew that she still suffered over the destruction of her world. He could see it in her face when she thought no one was looking; he could hear it in certain things she said—both sad and bitter. Having to play the part of the Princess of Alderaan, one more time—gods, but that would hurt her!
"She knows." Rieekan's face was solemn.
Of course she knew! She would go, and do her duty, and suffer for it. Leia was by far the most stubborn, perverse female he'd ever met!
"Well, okay," Han said. Another trip with a hidden agenda, he thought wearily. "Let me get the Falcon prepped—talk to Chewie." He started to rise. "Thanks for the information, general."
"Solo, wait a minute, there's something else I'd like to discuss with you."
"General?" Han raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"It's a personal matter."
####
"I didn't do it!"
Han was out of his seat and pacing the small office like a speeder set on full throttle. Rieekan drained the remnants of a cup of kaf that had grown cold on his desk, which hid the beginnings of a smile from Han's view. When he put the cup down, the distasteful grimace on his face was absolutely authentic.
"Sit down, Solo," he suggested firmly.
"Is that an order?" Han bristled.
"It's an offer." The general set the empty mug aside and pulled a small, opaque bottle from underneath his workstation. "So's this. Corellian brandy?" he asked, holding the bottle up for Han to see.
Han had been on the receiving end of many dressing-downs in his life. If this were to be one, the general sure had an odd way of starting it. Warily, he nodded.
"There's another mug around here someplace," Rieekan waved in the direction of a packing crate.
Han turned to search, shoving aside assorted pieces of bureaucratic detritus until he located the mug. He tipped out two styluses and swiped at the inside with his hand, removing most of the dust. With a wry smile he offered it to the other man, who answered the smile with one of his own and liberally filled the two mugs.
Returning to his seat, Han realized that in another time, or in another galaxy, he and Carlist Rieekan might have been colleagues—maybe even friends—assuming of course, that Han had managed to not get thrown out of the Imperial navy. That also presupposed that there was no Emperor Palpatine. In that galaxy there would be no edicts to enslave sentient races, or Moffs who blew up entire worlds on a whim, or Dark Lords of the Sith who tortured young Alderaanian princesses.
"General?" Han began again. His face reflected only cautiously neutral curiosity.
"You've been with us, what, almost three years?" Rieekan began.
"About that." Han took a sip of the brandy, swirled it over his tongue, swallowed. It was good stuff. All this for another recruitment speech? That didn't make any sense; he'd turned the Alliance down dozens of times.
"Do you ever ask yourself why you've stayed so long?" The general pulled from his own mug and swallowed appreciatively.
Han had chosen to ignore that particular question daily for almost three years. "I'm just here until I can pay—"
Rieekan held up a hand and shook his head. "I've heard that answer as many times as I've asked the question. What answer do you hear when you ask yourself?"
"Jabba'd never think to look for me here; it's a great place to hide." Han smiled half-heartedly, he knew he wasn't fooling the older man. But if Rieekan was trying to get him to say he'd signed on for the cause, he wasn't going to get it. "You pay fair for services rendered," he continued, but the general just looked at him. "I have friends here," he finished, instantly regretting that he'd admitted to the fact that he had any ties. Han took another swallow of the brandy. He figured maybe he ought to pace himself with it; good booze was hard to come by on this ice cube.
"Friends," Rieekan repeated, drinking from his mug. "Like Skywalker, Antilles…"
"Yeah, friends. I do have a few of 'em." Han hated how defensive he sounded. What was it about these Alderaanians that brought out the worst in him, he wondered?
"I never doubted that you did." The general smiled in an avuncular fashion. "What about Leia?"
Brandy sloshed in his mug as Han choked. "Her Worship, uh, the princess?" he stumbled. "What about her?" Smooth, Solo, he thought.
Rieekan set his mug down with a snap. "I did say this was personal." The general stood and paced a little before settling a hip on the edge of his workstation. "I've known Leia since she was a child. It was never easy for her to have friends. Her position, her precociousness," he smiled fondly. "Even as a child she was…fiery. She didn't have many friends, and those she had are mostly gone now."
There was that pain again. Han only nodded.
"As a friend of her father's, I try to look out for Leia. I hope she has friends, people she can count on; beyond the ones she's responsible for. But you and young Skywalker—she's different with you.
"Yeah, Luke is a great kid," Han said automatically. He saw where the conversation was going. An old family friend looking out for Leia. That was good, since she hardly ever looked out for herself. And Luke was great, hero of the Rebellion, Jedi knight in training. It was just… Give it up, Solo! Han chastised himself. If Leia thought of him at all, it was as an acquaintance, nothing more.
"What about you? When are you going to make your move, Solo?"
Han swallowed his half-mug of excellent Corellian brandy in one fiery gulp, using the coughing fit that followed to hide his complete, dumbfounded astonishment. If the general had spontaneously combusted, Han would have been less shocked. When he was able to breathe again, he looked at Rieekan through watery eyes. The kriffing man was grinning.
"General," he gasped, "I don't—"
"Yes, you do," Rieekan interrupted mercilessly. "You're not a kid like Skywalker, neither am I; we're both grown men. I can see you're attracted to her; what are you waiting for?"
Every day Han asked himself what he was doing here, why was he still helping the Rebel Alliance? Every day he came up with a different answer. He was keeping an eye on Luke; he was hiding from Jabba; he was making some extra money. Now there was another possibility—that he was in love with Leia Organa. And that was the one answer he never wanted to hear from himself. Thanks very much, Rieekan!
Han stood and placed his empty mug back on the packing crate. "General, no disrespect, but that's none of your business."
Rieekan rose as well. "You're probably right," he conceded. "Nevertheless, I'm still glad we had this talk." The general paused, measured his words. "And if you want my opinion, which you probably don't, I think you might be surprised at the result if you do make your move." He offered his hand to Solo.
Han looked at it for several long seconds; then he grasped it and shook it. What else could he do? The man had been nothing if not honest.
"Can you be ready for the Ord Mantell run by 08:30 tomorrow?" the general asked him, as if the other part of the conversation had never occurred.
"Chewie and I need to go over a few things, but it shouldn't be a problem." Han could pretend as well as the general.
"I'll let the Princess know."
"You do that," Han replied ungraciously. He turned to leave, completely missing the smile on Rieekan's face.
In Han's present frame of mind, that could only be a good thing. His little talk with the general hadn't exactly gone as planned. He was going to Ord Mantell, where he didn't want to go; he was taking Leia with him, which he didn't want to do; and he was facing a very unpleasant truth, that he didn't want to think about.
Kriffing terrific.