Transitions (2/5) by Sabacc Gal
Part 2: Youthful Indiscretions
"Han Solo, as I live and breathe," Jessa greeted them on the tarmac as they emerged from Doc's office on the way to the dining hall.
"How are you, Jess?"
"Flattered that you're gracing us with your presence, Solo. Breaking from the upper-crust to slum it for a day, just for old times' sake?"
"That, and I heard that business is so good around here that you're taking on charity cases," he smiled.
"Don't look at me." She shook her head scornfully, then lowered her voice. "The old man's getting dotty in his declining years." She tapped her head, casting a surreptitious look at Doc, who rolled his eyes in a gesture of long-suffering resignation.
Han had to laugh. The old man had spent the past three hours sharply matching wits with Leia while they'd hammered out an intricate deal that would compensate Doc adequately while keeping High Command happy and netting the Falcon her dish in the process.
Doc motioned respectfully. "Princess Leia, may I introduce you to Jessa, my smart-mouthed daughter."
"Daughter and head tech," Jessa clarified, inclining her head to Leia. "Pleased to meet you, your highness." She glanced at Han with an amused look that made him a touch nervous.
Leia nodded gracefully. "Your reputation precedes you. This is quite the impressive operation."
"Thank you," Jessa smiled. She looked sternly at Han. "You've been mistreating that little lady of yours?"
"Wasn't me," he assured her glumly.
"You let someone else at the controls?" Jessa looked shocked. "Your one and only love?" She shook her head in disbelief. Though she never glanced at Leia, Han recognized the mischief in Jessa's eyes. "I bumped into Chewie when I was looking the poor girl over," she went on, "and directed him to the dining hall." She looked back to Leia and Doc. "If you don't mind joining him and starting lunch without us, I'd like to first clarify a few technical specifications with the general here about that QV he's requested."
"Of course," Leia smiled smoothly. It was a well-honed diplomatic expression that Han knew well, and which worried him ever so slightly.
"How'd you get hooked up with that crowd?" Jessa asked as they walked across the tarmac, the expansive landing pad expertly camouflaged under its canopy of trees.
"Long story," he shrugged.
"When I got wind of the rumors I thought it had to be a mistake."
He sighed. "Yeah, I've heard that a lot."
"But it's not, is it. You're in this for real, no scam up your sleeve." She tossed him a mocking look. "You losing your edge, Solo?"
He grunted noncommittally, feeling inexplicably defensive.
When they reached the Falcon he saw that her techs were already halfway done with the dish installation. Not that he was surprised.
"Nice work," he commented after he'd had a closer look. "Gotta say, you're more trusting with payment than you used to be." He glanced at her. "You losing your edge, Jess?"
She smirked. "All Doc's doing," she insisted. "He's always had a soft spot for the rebellion. And an even softer spot for you and the Wook." Her voice grew quieter. "He still feels he owes you, you know."
"We were even a long time ago," he shrugged dismissively, turning back to the Falcon.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm and met his eyes. "When Doc disappeared at Star's End, you asked me if I'd go on a crying jag if it was you who'd gone missing. Remember that?"
He was silent, a little uncomfortable that she recalled his harsh words so distinctly.
He watched her face grow soft. "When I heard that Fett had caught up with you, I came close, Han." She touched his cheek. "I'm glad you're safe."
He reached up, took her hand and squeezed it lightly.
"It's good to see you, Jess," he smiled, then released her hand and swallowed uneasily, recalling the last time they'd stood together like this.
She studied him in silence for so long that he had to glance away. When he looked back at her again, he found her gaze fixed on the far end of the tarmac. "A general, Solo?" Her voice sounded distant. Then she glanced back at him, and the friendly scorn was back in her eyes. "Can you tell me what the hell that's about?"
He grinned. "Honestly," he shook his head, "I'm still trying to figure it out myself."
"I expected to see you in uniform." She glanced skeptically at his old shipboard vest and trousers.
"I am in uniform," he assured her.
"Things must be even worse than we thought," she snorted. "I have to say, though, it was pretty strategic of you to come in person to negotiate with Doc."
He nearly laughed. "Your people knew I was coming before I did, Jess. I didn't even know who the contract was with until we were halfway here."
She frowned at him in disbelief. "Same old Solo, jumping into hyperspace without a clue, counting on blind luck to save his ass." She clucked derisively. "What does that pretty little princess see in a space bum like you, anyway?"
Blindsided, he had no ready retort for that.
He was spared by the crackle of her comlink. "Code 7. Intruder ship intercepted, Jess," a voice sounded over the static. "ETA two minutes, landing pad Cresh-2."
His mind flashed to Leia. With a quick glance at Jessa he headed off at a run toward the dining hall at the far end of the tarmac.
"Han!" he heard Jessa call.
Halfway across the landing strip he was met by half-a-dozen techs. He slowed, then stopped as they blocked his way, weapons in hand. "Solo," he heard Jessa's voice again, and turned to see her following him at a leisurely pace.
"Calm down," she frowned when she'd reached him. "They'll never find this place – we're not amateurs, remember? We've got them detained at a decoy pad."
He cocked his head in annoyance at the techs. She nodded and they put away their weapons.
"Where's the decoy pad? I'd like to check this out for myself," he announced tersely.
"Right, Solo. So on the off chance that it's you they're after, you can give them your calling card?" She shook her head. "Not on our turf," she said firmly. "We have our own procedures. The decoy's off-limits, anyway. No exceptions, especially for trigger-happy idiots."
He thought about that. "Any ID on the ship?"
She shrugged. "It's definitely not Imperial, so relax. Some sort of small pleasure craft. Lost tourist, maybe. It happens. The timing's a little suspicious, but my guys'll run a thorough check and deal with them accordingly."
He frowned, thinking about how Leia would take this.
She motioned toward the dining hall. "Come on, let's join Chewie for a bite. You seem a little worried about the big lug," she scoffed. "More so than your precious ship, which is hard to believe."
He glanced at her, but she'd already started walking and didn't meet his eye.
"How did Vandangante know you needed a new dish?" Leia asked as the three of them slurped takabi noodles around the dejarik table.
"Sweetheart, Doc finds out everything he wants to know about a client before he'll accept to meet. This whole thing was a done deal before we even landed. Trust me on that one."
She frowned. He'd known she wouldn't like it. He braced himself for more questions.
"You and Jessa were involved?"
It was definitely not the line of inquiry he was expecting.
Chewie rumbled and excused himself, throwing Han a Told you so! look as he pushed back his bowl and headed down the passageway.
They watched him make his escape.
"The boss's daughter, Han?" She arched an eyebrow. "How strategic."
"It was a long time ago," he grumbled, poking at his noodles. He didn't bother asking what had given it away.
"And her father knew this?"
He shrugged sheepishly.
"Yet he still gave us a good deal on the upgrades…" she mused.
He looked up from his bowl and grinned. "He probably wanted me out of there as quick as possible."
She laughed. He saw her begin to say something, then change her mind as she studied him skeptically.
"What?" he asked.
She shook her head, eying him with amusement.
"Whatever it is, just say it," he challenged her grumpily, turning back to the depths of his bowl to chase a sliver of meat around the broth.
She hesitated. "I'm trying to phrase this without adding fuel to your ego."
"Oh?" He lifted his head in surprise. "Well, then, let's have it. I can handle it." He grinned reassuringly. "Deep down I'm actually a humble guy."
From the far end of the passageway Chewie roared a rather crude opinion of his captain's humility.
"Why don't you just come on back here so you don't have to strain those furry ears of yours," Han hollered over his shoulder.
The lounge whooshed with the faint echo of a hatchway sliding closed.
He turned back to Leia. "Sorry. You were saying?"
She smiled. "I was saying that, even accounting for your humility, I think on occasion you might actually underestimate your appeal, Captain."
"Meaning…" he frowned, trying to think through the compliment.
"Never mind. Jessa's not the first woman from your past to surprise me, and I fully expect she won't be the last."
He chuckled. "I hate to disillusion you, sweetheart, but the trail of broken-hearted females in my wake is a lot shorter than my, ah, reputation might suggest."
"And I'm suggesting perhaps you don't always see it," she smiled mystically. "Though I do agree that Jessa Vandangante doesn't seem like the broken-hearted type. More… regretful."
"Regretful?" He raised his eyebrows and studied her expression curiously.
She thought for a moment. "Why do you think I kept you at a distance as long as I did?"
"Because you were too much of a proper princess to jump a great opportunity when it presented itself?"
"Yes, well, besides that."
He dropped the banter as he suddenly guessed where this was going. "Because you thought I was going to take off?" he suggested quietly.
"No." She shook her head. "Because I knew you were going to take off. Just like I'm guessing Jessa knew, and everyone around you knew."
He pushed back his bowl, reached for her hand and tugged her onto his lap. She didn't even make a show of resisting.
"I'm not taking off anytime soon," he assured her.
"Hmmm," she nodded. "Why is that, anyway?" Her tone was teasing, but he detected genuine curiosity in her expression.
He thought about it, chose his words carefully. "Well, you didn't pull a blaster on me when I made my move on you in the asteroid field."
"I came close," she said with defiance.
"Close doesn't count, sweetheart. It's as good as throwing yourself at me." He gave her his best smug grin. "And any princess who throws herself at me, I consider hanging around for."
She gave a quiet laugh, but there was a touch of skepticism in her eyes. When she spoke her voice was soft. "Are you saying you wouldn't have gone to Jabba's after all?"
It was something they'd never once managed to discuss with civility back when it mattered. The subject had remained an emotional minefield right up until it was abruptly rendered moot.
"No." He glanced away. "I needed to do that. I really did. But up until then, I never knew if I had a reason to come back afterwards." He met her eyes tentatively. "And for once, I guess I was looking for one."
She considered this for a moment. And, judging by the way she leaned in and kissed him, he guessed she approved of his explanation.
"No one else dared, you know," she murmured against his chest when their breathing had slowed.
He could hear Chewie's snores from the other end of the ship and decided they hadn't woken him. "Dared what?"
"Make a move on me."
He saw her again in the chaotic string of bases from Yavin to Hoth: a stunning and diminutive spitfire barely out of her teens, all strategies and orders and action. He'd observed rooms of battle-hardened soldiers fall into respectful silence when she entered, and stare after her in speechless admiration when she left.
"Believe me, I wasn't the only one who thought about it. I was just the only one stupid enough to act on it."
She chuckled. "For the record, I would've pulled a blaster on anyone else."
"I'm glad to hear it." He pulled her closer and kissed her head, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky.
After a moment she spoke again. "How old were you, your first time?"
He raised his eyebrows at this unexpected tangent. "Depends how you define it," he shrugged evasively.
She lifted her head to look at him. Her expression was gentle, devoid of any mockery. "Define it however you'd like."
He tugged at the tangled bedding, wrestled a blanket back up into position against the breeze of recycled air.
"Fifteen," he mumbled. He glanced at her, trying to gauge her reaction in the faint glow of the bunk's chrono.
The flicker of her eyes led him to guess she was doing the math, and he wondered which it was: Her own age at the time? (Five, he'd computed long ago with some alarm.) How many years ago it had been? (Eighteen, he calculated now. Unbelievable.) How much older than fifteen she'd been her first time? (He could compute it to the day, having played a non-trivial role in this recently-established milestone.)
Whatever conclusions she came to, she kept them to herself. "I'm guessing you were a handsome teen," was all she said, gazing at him thoughtfully as if she were trying to imagine him at that age.
The eighteen-year-old memory was surprisingly clear.
The swoop race barbecues had always been memorable events because they meant he could eat his fill: a rare treat, despite Dewlanna's best efforts, especially since he'd hit the ravenous stage of puberty. But on this particular occasion he'd won first place, which meant that for a week, maybe even two, Shrike would think twice about beating the crap out of him.
And just when he'd thought life didn't get any better than sweet victory smothered in tangy rib sauce, one of the wealthy local girls had flirted with him for close to an hour before taking him into a remote cabana room, a stunningly pristine cubicle smelling of freshly laundered towels, perfumed soap and an enormous white flower floating in a blue bowl on the counter.
It had been fumbling and quick and beyond amazing to his fifteen-year-old hormone-flooded mind. It was only when they'd emerged, flushed and sticky, from the cabana, and he'd spotted three giggling faces peering from behind a nearby tree, that it had occurred to him that it all might have been part of some stupid dare.
He'd felt a crash of humiliation but forced it down and called out, as brashly as he could manage, "You waiting your turn, or what?"
The trio had shrieked and shoved and retreated to the hidden safety of the tree.
"They always follow you around like this?" he'd shot derisively at the girl to cover his embarrassment, noticing smears of barbecue sauce on her expensive-looking outfit and realizing, with vindictive pride, that he'd been the one to put them there.
She'd rolled her eyes. "Don't mind them. They've been mooning over you all afternoon, but none of them had the guts to even come talk to you."
Mooning over him? His mind had reeled at the revelation.
He'd buried his astonishment in a shrug. "Their loss," he'd grinned at her.
She'd smiled back, almost shyly in light of what she'd initiated barely an hour ago. "I have to go," she'd said softly. "I'll see you around sometime?"
"Sure," he'd nodded, knowing he never would. If Shrike's scheme went down successfully she'd never want to see him again unless it was to identify him in a criminal line-up.
She'd walked over to the crowded tree amidst a renewed chorus of giggles.
And then, spirits soaring – Mooning? Really? – he'd gone back to the barbecue to polish off two more plates of ribs while keeping an eye out for her giggling friends, because he'd long ago learned not to let serendipitous opportunities go to waste.
She'd been pretty, and nice to him, but it never occurred to him to warn her about the scam. Likely because the idea would have seemed completely futile.
He'd felt so powerless growing up in Shrike's clutches. It wasn't something he was prepared to share with anyone. Not yet, anyway.
Leia was propped up on an elbow, still looking at him affectionately.
"I was a punk," he cautioned her. "The kind of kid everybody probably warned you to stay away from."
She kissed his shoulder, apparently undeterred. "Isn't a punk simply the younger version of a scoundrel?"
He smiled at the oblique compliment. "Trust me, you would've pulled a blaster on this kid for sure."
She laughed, her breath warm against his skin. "Are there any pictures of this young scoundrel?" The hint of hope in her voice suggested to him that she'd already conducted her own search without success.
"Nope. Sorry." He'd paid Nici the Specialist a hefty sum to make sure of that.
"None at all?" Her tone was light, but he sensed her disappointment. Her fingers traced soft patterns on his chest.
He shook his head. "Really, there's nothing," he said quietly. "I had to wipe everything before applying to Carida."
To her credit she didn't pursue it. Instead she kissed his shoulder again, and was silent for a long time.
He sat up with a start, suddenly and fully awake. All he could recall was being trapped inside a void, looking out into darkness, frozen in time and space where nothing existed but the knowledge that Leia was watching over him from somewhere outside, his only hint of comfort in the entire universe.
He lay back down, careful not to wake her, vaguely disoriented to realize they were in her bed on Home One rather than his bunk on the Falcon; they'd come back late last night, he remembered dimly through the pounding of his heart.
The dream had originated from carbon-freeze. It was how he visualized his captivity, when he cared to visualize it at all. It was his only memory of that lost period of his life. Eight months, they'd told him, during which his chances of slipping into permanent insanity had been higher than not.
He also knew for a fact that he shouldn't have been able to remember anything at all.
He was still awake when the blatt of the comm station sounded. Leia stirred, rose quietly, padded over to the console. The last grip of claustrophobia was fading as he heard the voice of Home One's dispatch officer.
"Transmission for General Solo. Security verification required, channel 3-7. Sender Jessa Vandangante."
He pulled on some clothes and tried not to think too hard about the fact that, without even bothering to raise him on his personal comlink, Communications had known to patch a secure connection to Leia's suite at the crack of standard dawn. So much for the appearance of propriety.
"Did I wake you, Solo?" She looked amused.
"Morning Jess, what's up?"
"Just thought you'd want to know that the ship we intercepted when you were here was registered to a journalist. The guy insisted he took a wrong turn, but a scan of his hardware suggests he's more than a little interested in you and your new friends."
"A journalist?" From where he sat at the console he could see Leia mirroring his frown, just out of comm visual range.
"I hate to say it, but it looks like he traced your signal through that pathetic excuse of a dish we ripped out of your pride and joy."
"Shit. Sorry, Jess." He glanced meaningfully at Leia, who had the decency to look guilty on behalf of Alliance Procurement.
"All in a day's work. You have my word that this clown didn't get any info out of us here," Jessa assured him. "But I thought you'd want a heads-up."
"Thanks. You got ID on this guy?"
"Human male named Masa Trelik, freelances for the tabloids. His credentials check out. I'm sending you what we turned up. You're surprisingly photogenic, Solo, but if you decide you need a top-notch slicer..."
"Gotcha." He exchanged a concerned look with Leia as the incoming images flashed in quick succession in the upper corner of the screen.
"You've got my scramble code if you need to reach me. In any case, watch yourself," Jessa warned, "unless you're eager to see your arrogant mug splashed across the entertainment feeds instead of the wanted posters for a change."
He swallowed thickly. "Thanks, Jess. Tell Doc I appreciate it."
"Will do, Han. Take good care of Chewie and that pretty little sweetheart of yours. And a royal wave to the princess." Jessa glanced off-screen with a palm flutter aimed uncannily in Leia's direction.
"Uh, yeah," he signed off.
He looked over at Leia.
She arched an eyebrow. "She has style, I'll give her that." Her face turned serious as she moved to his side to study the images Jessa had transmitted.
All were from the Sladimar Summit, and all featured Leia, both alone and with other delegates. There were also several of him and Leia in the grand hallway outside the main conference hall. A few more of them leaving the following morning, the tablecloth-wrapped pastries tucked under his arm. Han could imagine the tabloid speculation regarding the contents of the bundle: Military secrets? Spice? Alderaanian heirlooms? He was willing to bet nobody would suggest Belthusian buns.
At least summit security had successfully kept the press out of the delegates' wing, so no shots of either of them directly entering or leaving her suite. And either the guy had some scruples or the perimeter jamming fields had done their job, so no indiscreet remote-cam window shots. The very thought made Han's blood boil.
But there were close-ups of Leia pressing the datacard into Han's hand outside the conference hall, and one of her hand on his arm the following morning on their way to the Falcon, which was all Han needed to confirm that this guy was after more than conference highlights.
A quick scan of the newsfeeds turned up nothing. Whatever it was, it was still in the works.
"You want me to get Jessa on it? Her slicers could disappear anything we want."
"No," Leia said firmly. "Legally he's done nothing wrong, and if word got out it could have negative repercussions."
"Leia, this guy wasn't covering the summit. He was covering you. Personally."
"Publicity is the price of victory," she sighed.
"Where I come from, publicity is rarely a good thing."
"Well, I'm sorry to say that I grew up with this. You do get used to it." She slid her hand from the chair-back to his shoulder, squeezing it apologetically. "And there will be more, Han, no matter how many precautions we take."
"Great," he grumbled. He brought up Masa Trelik's official bio, committing the details to memory with a determination he'd once reserved for bounty-hunters.