Chapter Three:

Luke Skywalker's visits with Leia usually followed a very simple itinerary. Their greetings were heartfelt and sweet, the warmth of their twin bond strengthened by their physical proximity. They always had too much to talk about and too little time in which to do it. It was impossible for them to stay on topic or even take in half of what the other was saying. They talked over each other, flying from subject to subject with all the grace of a wild bantha, until one of them would insist on food. And then they would continue the communicative chaos in a restaurant of Leia's choosing, because Luke didn't have the faintest idea where to go on Coruscant.

It had been four years since he'd discovered the particulars of their biological relationship and it had taken that long for it be easier to call Leia his sister rather than his friend. There was no guidebook on how to interact with long-lost siblings, so they just continued their always-more-than-friendship as normal and every once in awhile tried a tentative twin joke to see how the other reacted.

Sometimes he wondered if the transition would have been easier if he'd been living on Coruscant. He'd rationalized that a great deal of pressure had been put on Leia during the foundation of the New Republic and he'd believed her when she said that the pressure was good. The dream she'd shared with the Organas was coming true. Leia wasn't Leia without the weight of the entire galactic peace on her shoulders.

And, to be fair, Endor had taken the center out of their galaxy. Each of them had needed to recalibrate his or her individual settings to get back to normal. All of their closest relationships had drastically changed that day on the Endor moon, for better or worse. It had always been "Luke and Han and Leia"; now there was "Han and Leia" and "Luke and Leia" and "Han and Luke" to worry about. Their dynamic was confusing to Luke these days, though he was happy that Han and Leia had come through the tough years together.

In comparison, Chewie had been an active part of the transition. He, like Luke, was an outsider to the Han-Leia relationship, but instead of giving them space to figure things out, Chewie had just widened his loyalty to Han to include Leia and had continued on as usual. No one seemed bothered by it and it led Luke to think that he should have done the same.

Luke knew why he'd left. He had accepted that he needed to see Leia as both a sister and a potential apprentice. It had been a terrifying thought to consider: teaching his sister what he'd so recently learned himself. It was dangerous for her to be left untrained but it was also dangerous to teach her badly.

He'd gone searching for Jedi artifacts instead. He'd scoured the galaxy for help in training Leia, because he hadn't truly trusted himself not to fail her as a master. His training had been hurried and precipitous. If he could find any more information to make her training less fraught with difficulty than his, he owed it to her to try to find it.

That's what he told himself, at least.

"Luke!"

He turned at the sound of his name. Leia's small form was rushing to him through the throng of beings in the spaceport. Her hair was swept into a braided bun on top of her head and her smile was bright as a star. She was wearing a white sweater and a pair of beige pants, totally congruous with the crowds around her. He admired the way Leia always seemed to know what to do to make herself either stand out or blend in. Princess training, he thought.

"Hey! I was just thinking about you," he said.

She smiled and hugged him. "It's so good to see you, little brother."

"Not a chance." He smiled into her hair, disengaged and steered her toward the public walkway. "I'm starving and you're taking me somewhere nice to eat before we even start with the catch-up."

"Am I?" She laughed at him but hooked her arm through his anyway. "I suppose I can manage that."

The next hour found them in an artistic, expensive Ithorian tapcafe. They were sitting under a canopy made of green fern-like leaves, their table nestled into a secluded corner. Luke suspected Leia had called ahead and requested the table: everything else in the cafe was brightly lit and very public. One low lamp hovered over the table and it swung lazily back and forth. One other patron sat across the room from them, huddled over a datapad and eating a plate of greens. Luke's plate was empty and Leia still picked at hers while she told him of an offer Airen Cracken had made to her not three weeks before.

"It was the wildest thing," she said. "He seemed so convinced that I would jump at the chance to join the NRI."

"Spies assume everyone wants to be them. Every kid I knew growing up wanted to be one."

"Every boy wants to be a spy." She placed her fork on her plate, took a sip of water. "Human girls have better imaginations than that."

"Really?"

She nodded and leaned in closer. "I haven't told Han yet."

That surprised him. Luke suspected Han would find the idea amusing, if not outright hilarious. "Afraid he'd hate the idea?" he asked.

"Actually, I'm not sure that he would. Part of me thinks he'd be all for it."

A flash: Han and Leia in a dark cantina, blasters on the table, their stares trained in two different directions. Han reached over and grabbed her hand beneath the table, leaned in and whispered something into Leia's ear. She turned to him and winked, her dark eyes lined with even darker make-up.

The scene dissolved in an instant, leaving behind only the sense of danger and excitement.

Luke shook his head, ignoring the vision for now. He'd experienced this before. Leia's future always seemed to shuffle between several different tracks and these flashes weren't often warnings so much as possibilities. Yoda had told him that the future was always in motion.

He tightened his prosthetic hand into a fist. He'd learned the hard way not to take Force visions too seriously.

"All for what?" he said, picking up the thread of their conversation. "Getting yourself shot up on some backwater planet doing surveillance work for Cracken?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "But Han doesn't understand politics. He would prefer getting shot up on a backwater planet to meetings and formal dinners."

"No one understands politics, Leia."

She laughed with him and then straightened her spine, her lips pursed together. The way she held her shoulders—rolled back as if facing a strong dust storm―told Luke that she was trying to sound nonchalant but didn't expect to get away with it. "Did you hear about the Rebel Dream?"

Luke shook his head. He'd been searching around Dathomir for the Chu'unthor the past month and had been out of contact with almost everyone. After his resignation from Starfighter Command, he'd stopped receiving the military dailies. "No, I haven't."

"She was captured at Storinal by the Peremptory."

"Oh." He didn't often feel like a farmboy anymore. He hated the moments when he was forced back into the role. "Oh, Leia, I'm sorry. Is there any clear motive?"

"Beside gaining a capital ship?" She laughed, but her Force signature felt bitter to him. "No. We think the Coruscant attack last week was supposed to distract us from the area."

"Yeah, even I heard about what happened here. Do you know who it was?"

"Not here," she said. She paid the bill so fast that he couldn't object. Then she stood up and indicated he should follow her out of the cafe. He noticed Leia nod to the other patron in the cafe and considered that his sister might occasionally use security when she went out in public. There was no impending threat here, he could tell, but he marveled at what dangers Leia must have faced in order for her to accept a security detail.

Outside the cafe, the stale, sterile air of Imperial City blew through Luke's hair. This city made him uncomfortable. Too many people in too little space. Too much history, too much trauma. He'd once asked Leia why she'd voted to reseat the new government in the ashes of the old, and she'd railed for twenty minutes on the administrative foundations already in place here, at the sheer amount of people needed to set up a government. She'd talked about infrastructure, communication apparatuses, housing a functional High Court.

At the end of her speech, Luke had simply shrugged and said Sure, but this place feels…

Creepy as fuck? Han had supplied from the other room.

Luke had laughed then but had agreed with him. Something about the lack of any natural features—the cold, mechanical processes that controlled the weather, the air temperature, sunrise and sunset—made him uneasy. Combine that with the sinister weight of Palpatine's psychic presence in the Force on this planet, and Luke wondered why anyone would vote to live here, infrastructure or no...

"So who was it?" he asked as they walked. "Who attacked Coruscant?"

"The resounding consensus is that it was an Imperial warlord named Teradoc."

He could feel her disagreement in the Force. "But you don't think so."

"I don't think Teradoc has the manpower right now to support a two-front attack. And we have no confirmation that Teradoc has acquired the Peremptory. As far as we know, she's still captained by Lotharo."

"Could Teradoc be working in conjunction with Lotharo?"

Leia sighed. "I don't think so. He's not the type to play nicely with others."

"They don't make them like they used to, that's for sure," he said, tilting his head back and trying to catch the breeze on his face. "What does Han think? Isn't he the Great Warlord Expert now?"

He'd heard about Zsinj's defeat: it had been blaring from every galactic media outlet for weeks now. Luke had been amused when the first familiar face he'd seen after his latest trip had been Han Solo's, splashed onto a news channel's broadcast, looking typically annoyed as he pushed past a group of reporters.

Leia gave him a pointed look. "Do not call him that to his face. Don't even hint at it."

Luke couldn't help but smile. It was good to know that respectability hadn't dulled Han's ego. "And so? What does he think?"

She sighed. "He's with Ackbar. Thinks Teradoc recruited some of Zsinj's mercenary friends and used a coalition group to attack Coruscant at the same time that Lotharo attacked the Rebel Dream at Storinal. Which is ludicrous."

Ah, he thought. It was a given that Han and Leia would disagree about a great many things, though he wondered what made Leia take the opposite side from Han if he was the proven military expert on Zsinj.

They watched a Twi'lek pass in front of them ten meters away, her lekku twitching as she sidled up to a human man on the other side of the walkway. Luke could sense that there was more to Leia's unease than a simple disagreement with Han. He waited patiently as they passed the couple and turned down another pedestrian walkway.

He didn't have to wait long. "The Provisional Council is talking about sending a diplomatic envoy to Teradoc to negotiate his terms for surrender," she said.

Luke considered that. He didn't understand why the interim leaders of the government would push for negotiations with Teradoc when they hadn't offered any amnesty to Zsinj. Perhaps they weren't equitable threats? Maybe they had offered such negotiations to Zsinj but he'd rebuffed them? Whatever the reason, he got that it came down to politics, and as he'd already said: no one understands politics.

What he was missing was why Leia so clearly disagreed with the idea of sending an envoy. Her feelings on the matter were obvious: the Force nearly simmered with her anxiety. Luke turned to look at her, noted the pinched look of her cheeks and the way her eyes burned into the walkway ahead of her.

"Policy is important right now. We offer this to one illegal warlord and the new senate will end up offering it to his successor when he inevitably gets killed or deposed ad infinitum in a vicious cycle. We need to stand fast, set a sustainable precedent. We are still fighting a war."

"You're worried about precedent with a senate that isn't even elected yet?"

"They're young," she said. "Inexperienced. Unable to see more than one step ahead of them at a time. I'm worried we'll be setting all our democratic hopes on adolescents…. Adolescents stuck in a war they don't understand."

"I object to that as an adolescent that was stuck in a war I didn't understand."

Her eyes belied the good-natured insult he knew was coming. His early life was an endless source of material. "Ah, but you learned intense warfare at an early age. I remember one story, something about speeder-dueling someone on Tatooine for stealing your womprat territory? And crashing the speeder? Am I remembering it correctly?"

"I don't know who told you that story, but they might be meeting the business end of a lightsaber before long."

They turned another corner and Luke began to recognize the senate housing district where Leia and Han's apartment was located. It was flagrant and opulent, of course, and it was overshadowed by the tall, dark spires of the Imperial Palace. Long corridors of marble confused him as they walked, so similar to each other that he was lost after only ten minutes. The evidence of Imperial rule was so clear here. Signs written only in Aurebesh. Smaller doorways meant for the comfort of only human forms. A temperate atmosphere, free of the pheromones of the other species they'd passed on the walkway.

"Teradoc won't accept the offer," Leia said, picking up where they had left off. "It's not good public relations, it's not smart policy, and it's going to fail. Why even attempt it?"

"Okay. But what about it makes you so angry?" She gave him a frustrated look and he held up his hands. "You're projecting, Leia. You might as well be screaming it to me."

She grimaced. He knew he was one of about four souls in the entire galaxy that she had deemed trustworthy enough to answer such direct questions. Still, the look she gave him was unnerving and made him instantly regret saying anything. He didn't want to cause her any more stress than he already did.

But he could tell that this envoy seriously disturbed her.

"Guess who they're trying to send as commanding military escort?"

"Oh," he said. Han. There wasn't a whole lot in this galaxy that scared his sister. The only thing sure to raise her hackles was the man she loved. "Oh, no."

"Yeah."

She stepped in front of him to enter a door and he realized that they had arrived at her apartment building. "But he just got back."

"Less than three weeks ago, yes."

"Can't he request a three-month groundside stay?" Luke asked.

The provision had been a popular one when it had first been announced shortly before he'd left the corps. By virtue of a standard commission, a military officer had the opportunity to request extended leave after a time of particular stress or a long deployment. His buddy Wedge had asked for, and been denied, an extended leave during the bacta crisis just the year before.

"He already did. He requested it about thirty seconds after he got his return orders," Leia said, swiping a badge and stepping through the security checkpoint into her apartment building.

He followed behind her. "Then that's that, right? He's got three months?"

"There's a law within the naval charter to rescind the three-month groundside stay if it is deemed necessary for a certain officer to be deployed again in times of dire need."

It made sense. Specific people might be needed for a specific mission in war. It didn't surprise him in the least that the groundside stay amendment had a rescindment clause. There often wasn't time to wait three months while the officer in question got his or her groundside station out of the way. But there was no reason to enact it in this case.

"What about Carlist? Or Jan? Han's not the only commissioned officer around. If he just talked to someone, I'm sure they could…. "

"They want the man that defeated Zsinj. They want their Great Warlord Expert on hand, as you so eloquently called him. It's a massive psychological campaign, meant to disarm Teradoc when they get him to the negotiating table."

"Here: meet the man that killed your predecessor," Luke murmured. "Make a deal now or wind up like him."

"Exactly. Though I think it has to do with the elections, too. The candidates want to look proactive, they want to parade around their support for the military."

"They're making military personnel decisions with campaign brains?" Luke asked, disbelieving.

"Of course they are. They don't know how not to."

"Oh," he said, struggling to control his disgust. "I take it Han isn't thrilled with the idea?"

"He's absolutely livid. I think it's more that he's hearing it from me rather than from Ackbar himself. If it was a truly military decision Ackbar would have ordered him to do it weeks ago, no questions asked. He hasn't done that. So Han feels like he has all the room in the galaxy to protest and yell and cause a big mess."

Luke could imagine. "But he will be ordered to soon, I'm guessing?"

"As soon as it's all formally written down and passed by the Council, yes." She slid a different badge through a slot at the turbolift and the doors hissed open as they stepped inside. "He'll have no choice."

"Can you get yourself on the mission, then? I mean, you'd have a better chance of success with Teradoc than most of the Council."

"Maybe. But I'm being pushed to work the Fondor angle. Mon Mothma wants me to meet with their delegation and assure them that we don't question their loyalty, that the shipyards will be protected against the same kind of harassment we saw at Storinal." She sighed and ran a hand over her hair. "On top of it all, most of the elections are taking place within the next few weeks. Then Mon Mothma will campaign for chief of state, and she's already decided to nominate me for minister of state."

"Congratulations."

She didn't miss a beat. "And that means a lot more traveling than I initially anticipated." The lift doors opened again, and they stepped into the hallway outside of Leia's quarters.

Luke shrugged. "But that's what you want to do, right?"

Leia paused at her door, hand extended to the bioprint controls. The front door to her apartment slid open but she made no move to enter. She turned slowly to face Luke, her face a soft mask. Not unreadable, but not overly expressive either.

He reached out in the Force, gauged her signature. Immediately, he felt her discomfort. To him it felt like an itch beneath his skin: something he couldn't scratch. It crawled through his muscles, along his bones, a slow-moving pest. Doubt? He wondered. Regret?

"Politics can accomplish great things on a massive scale," she said, soft and low. "No matter how long it takes. The only way to facilitate true change is through governmental checks-and-balances and by people who don't want that power. Right?"

"I can't speak to the part about politics. There are millions of ways to make change happen, small or large. Anyone with enough courage can do that." He thought about his small family: the princess, the general, the Wookiee warrior and the Jedi. They all had different destinies, yes, but weren't they all making big changes in this tumultuous galaxy? "And as to power? Yes. Of course. The minute you want power is the minute you shouldn't have it."

The galaxy needed people like Leia at its helm. It wasn't the natural order of things to be fair and just. The galaxy ran on chaos; it was only the desire of the people of the galaxy for peace that allowed it to happen. The Force created the players that ran the galaxy, and there weren't a whole lot of people who were as qualified as Leia.

She looked at him, her eyes big and round and impossibly still. He noticed that her impression in the Force felt small, like she had curled into herself for protection. He tried to urge her back out, tried to surround her with all the positivity he could while at the same time wondering why she was so dim to him.

"Thank you," she finally said, stepping through the open door. "I needed to hear that."

XXX

Han slouched low in one of Leia's too-comfortable office chairs, his legs sprawled out on the orowood floor in front of him. He struggled to stay awake. All alone and happily sleep-deprived, his efforts might be doomed to failure.

His original plan had been to surprise her with a quick visit, thinking of locking the door and kissing her senseless for awhile. But when he'd come to her office, she'd been out for a meeting. And now he waited for her return, stuck somewhere between boredom and sleep.

He had to admit that her office was nice, as far as offices went. Leia hadn't decorated it, but he could tell someone who knew her well had—probably Winter—because it felt natural and airy. It reminded him of Kashyyyk's wroshyr trees and the bare sky they touched. Part of him wondered if he could get Winter to do something with his office, then he remembered that he avoided the place anyway. There was no point in trying to trick hell into being anything other than hell.

Leia wasn't expecting him; he hadn't called her beforehand and she probably wouldn't be too happy about that when she finally got back here. Her schedule was like the thread hanging off a ratty shirt: you pull a little, and the whole thing unraveled faster than you could say Your Worship. The only way to get to see her would be to either make an appointment, which would be ridiculous, or to just show up and hope for the best.

He had been dealing with politicians the whole damned day and their yelling, pleading and schmoozing had driven him up the wall. By the late morning, he'd just wanted to go home and lay around with Leia. He kept thinking of her warm breath in his ear and the strands of her hair running through his fingers. Skin is what he wanted. Not sex, though he'd never say no if she was up for it. He'd just needed to feel connected to something that was actually real, something he could trust, something he actually believed in.

Han enjoyed being near enough to stop by Leia's office whenever he wanted, to see her as often as he could. It was easy for him to pretend that he didn't need her when he was on assignment. He had a job to do there, life and death decisions riding on him having a clear head. But it was much harder when the reality―the possibility―of seeing her actually existed.

And so he waited for her to come back, completely unselfconscious about it.

His comm went off and he grabbed it on instinct. It wasn't smart to ignore a communiqué. It could mean bad news, and bad news meant something needed to be done so that bad news didn't become unsolvable news. He answered it and was annoyed when a deep, authoritative voice barked his name.

"Airen. Hi." He was nodding by habit; he had the comm on voice-only mode. "Forgive me for not properly kissing your ass when I got back. Had better things on my mind."

"Sure, sure. I haven't been in the mood for ass-kissing lately, either."

"Good to hear it." Cracken sounded too amicable, too lighthearted, for this to be a simple welcome home call. From the director of the NRI, no less. Han's skin prickled in the cool air of Leia's office.

"I have news on Teradoc," Cracken said.

Han sat up and switched the comm to visual mode. "Really?"

He let a fraction of his interest creep into his voice, but worked hard against the impulse to raise his eyebrow. He didn't trust spies further than he could throw them and this was the head of the whole damn agency. He'd keep his reactions to himself.

Cracken's face took up the entire screen and his eyes looked redder than Han had last seen them. He wondered if the general had recently given up his cantankerous whiskey habit. Thin lips and a tight jaw contrasted sharply with the loose skin of his face: the long nap of deskwork, Han thought. The general needed to get back out in the field. Cracken's hair was turning a puzzling gray-red on top of his head. "Get to my office."

Han wanted to turn the comm off. He wanted to wait for Leia in peace, wait for an afternoon spent somewhere other than a metallic office in the heart of the Intelligence building. The urge to blow off Cracken's call was strong; he desperately wanted to find Leia and get down to the less complicated business of being on the same planet as the woman he loved. But if Leia found out he'd ignored a call like this—and she always found out—he wouldn't get to do any of the things he wanted to do with her anyway.

He sighed. "Give me ten minutes."

It didn't take that long to reach Cracken's office but Han doubled back and picked up a few things from the Falcon just to be late and piss off the general. Nearly thirty minutes later than he'd promised, Han strolled down a harshly-lit hallway and stepped to an undesignated door. The New Republic Intelligence building was a renovated med center from what he'd been told, and that fact didn't surprise him at all, judging by its boxy exterior and evenly-spaced windows. The whole thing felt claustrophobic, sick. The lobby had been redecorated into what he imagined was supposed to be a reassuring waiting room, with plush chairs lining the soft blue walls and a fake plant in the corner.

But the pretense of warmth vanished immediately upon clearing the security checkpoint. Then the sterility assaulted him: white, white and more white. It reminded him of the Imperial academy on Carida. Directed by a security officer at the checkpoint, Han walked down the short, barren hallway and stopped at an open door at the far end.

Airen Cracken had his back to Han when he stepped over the older man tilted a miserable-looking potted plant toward the one slant of natural light that made it into the room from a skylight and ignored his visitor. Han took a moment to look around. The office was covered in large holoscreens running live broadcasts from several galactic news outlets. Scanning the room, he couldn't spot any personal items, a sharp contrast to the candid holos and Alderaanian relics decorating Leia's office.

Han walked forward and plopped down into the chair opposite the giant, meticulously-organized desk. "So. What's up with Teradoc?"

"Teradoc isn't your man," Cracken said, still standing with his back to Han. His voice sounded like boots trudging through gravel: guttural, hard. Like sliding rocks.

"Really?"

"Really. What you should be looking for is much, much worse." The general turned around and wiped his hands on a nearby towel as he fixed Han with a steady gaze. "Reuniting the Imperial fleet, as best as we can tell."

That was something to think about. "How does an attack on Coruscant and a commandeered capital ship reunite the fleet?"

"We think that was Teradoc. Moron honestly thought the feint would work."

"It did work."

"For a time," Cracken allowed, sitting in his nerfhide chair. "We've already tracked the Rebel Dream. She'll be ours again in two months, at most."

Cocky bastard. Han had seen the vid. That ship wouldn't be considered a prize for anyone at the moment; it had bled vacuum-compressed bodies from three different breached hulls. No one would want to recapture her until the Imperials had made their repairs.

"You going to make this hard on me? Make me guess?" Han asked. "Because I've had a hell of a day and my patience ain't what it used to be."

"General Solo." Cracken's eyes narrowed and Han suddenly realized that the older man wasn't toying with him. At all. "I have something to tell you. This news isn't going to the military and it's not going to be sent to the Provisional Council until I know more."

Han's spine itched, a weight dropped in his chest. It's bad, Han thought. It's bad enough that the military can't handle it and the government isn't ready for it yet. "I'm military," Han said.

"You're one stick short of quitting and becoming a stay-at-home consort to one of the least diplomatic diplomats in the history of the galaxy."

Han felt his anger flare, tried to settle it down before he did something really stupid. "Who said I was quitting?"

"Your fiancée. At lunch with her brother two days ago."

A spark lit the fuse in Han's chest and his rage roared through his veins. It was supremely difficult for him to stay rooted to his chair. He swore he could etch markings into the arms of the chair with his fingernails. "Are you watching her, Airen?"

Cracken didn't react to the heavy threat lining Han's question. "Quit the military. Join the NRI. You can deal with things however you want, but I need a wild card and you fit."

Things were spinning out of control. Han was still viciously angry. How had he not realized that the NRI was listening to them? Had they been tailing Leia? Did they have a bug on her? On Luke?

"You're barking at the wrong general," he said, trying to pull his anger into check. If Leia were here, she'd say something biting and then leave, not get in a fight with an entire branch of the government. Han couldn't just fly off the handle here. If Cracken knew something about Teradoc, or about the Empire, Han had to at least try not to shoot the guy.

He was so tempted, though. So, so tempted.

"No, I'm afraid I'm not." Leaning back in his chair, Cracken typed in a command at his terminal. "I'm sending you away with one more slice of intel to think about while you're off playing paper soldier."

He turned his terminal screen around so that Han could see it. A three-dimensional reconstruction of a massive shipyard came into view and Han leaned in to examine it further. The crescent logo over the hull of the nearest freighter made the image's origins clear: Sluis Van.

Han swiped a finger over his chin, lost in thought.

"Keep focusing on Fondor and you'll miss the fireworks. The action will be here, not on Fondor. And it won't be from Teradoc."

Han barely heard him. The yards took up most of the frame, but he could see the red-brown surface of the planet behind the spindle arms and docking station. A gunship flitted across the screen without hassle, and Han spotted a few EV techs working on the nearest construction: what looked to Han like a Mon Cal bulk cruiser, though he knew Sluis Van didn't build those. Sluissi designs shared a similar circular affinity: reptiles and amphibians ignoring the human love for sharp angles and four-point formulae.

Nothing looked wrong to him. He could see no Imperial Star Destroyers, no pirates. Nothing to warrant the NRI's interest in the yards. Han was unsettled, the bulk of his anger receding enough to recognize the warning in Cracken's voice. This was an odd position for him to be in, unable to aggressively state his opinion nor act on it. He felt constrained by his own need for information on Teradoc and his curiosity about Sluis Van. After months of fighting these bastards, didn't he have a right to everything Intelligence had picked up?

He hated spies.

Cracken tapped the screen again and it went blank. "Compare notes with the Minister of State, Solo."

"She's not Minister of State."

Cracken waved a disdainful hand. "Details. You're dismissed."

Han stared as Cracken turned in his chair to consider the nearest holoscreen. His presumption hit Han hard in the stomach: he was bleeding a dull ire. "Great," Han said as he slapped the arms of his chair and stood up. After three steps, he felt a flicker of his old rage spark against his ribcage and turned sharply back to the man seated behind the desk.

"You leave Leia the fuck alone, Airen," he said. Growled: danger plastered on every word.

He left the threat implicit, a dark peril for Cracken to avoid if he knew what was good for him. Chewie, Luke, the Falcon and Leia. Especially Leia. Han didn't screw around when it came to protecting the people he loved. If Cracken had a death wish, this was a surefire way to go about that messy business.

Cracken turned his head to the side to regard Han with cool indifference, unaffected. "Oh, it's far too late for that," he said. "Have a good day, General Solo."

XXX

An hour later Han found Leia in their apartment, sitting in the entertainment area with a hand to her temple and staring down at a datapad in her lap. She looked up with a bright smile as he walked through the door. Han couldn't quite manage a real one in return, disturbed by his meeting with Cracken.

"I was just about to call you," she said. Her hair was out of the tight nest of braids she'd worn as she'd left for her office this morning. Instead it was piled on top of her head in a loose bun. "I hear you stopped by my office earlier?"

"Yeah," he said, crossing to where she sat. He blew out his breath and tumbled onto the couch next to her. "Today's been a mess."

She eyed him carefully, then set her datapad down and crept toward him. "What happened?"

"Cracken happened."

Han turned to face her, leaning an elbow on the back of the couch. Leia was close, a meter away, her eyes so startled that his protective instinct simmered, even though he knew there was nothing to hurt her here.

"Cracken," she repeated. "You saw Cracken?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "He's playing spy games. Said he had information on Teradoc. Figured I better at least hear him out."

"Does he have information?" she asked.

"Damned if I know. He insulted me, and then you, and then told me he listened to you and Luke a few days ago. And then I almost killed him, so I left."

"What?" Leia said, her voice loud and surprised. "He's using intel surveillance on us?"

He was gratified to see her outrage mirror his own. Her eyes blazed with fire and her mouth hung open in shock. To his complete surprise, her anger seemed to cool his, and his lips turned up in a small smile. This woman didn't know the meaning of the word subtle: she could hide the hottest fires of her indignation from others when called upon, but she couldn't roll it into disingenuousness. When she was angry, you knew it, and now the sight of her anger felt like the cure to his own.

"The man is a snake, Leia."

"I…. oh, I want to—"

He nodded. "Yeah. Me too. And then he offered me a job."

Leia went still. "Which job?"

He shrugged. "No idea."

She nodded but her eyes slid to the side, like she was trying to solve a difficult equation. Han felt the soft whisper of unease creep down his spine, watching her think and tap her right index finger on her thigh. Her silence bothered him, though he couldn't put a finger on why.

But then her brilliant smile lit up her face again. She leaned into him, pressing her knee into his leg, and reached up to finger the collar of his shirt. "Forget it. Do you have anything else to do today?"

He blinked at her, trying not to react to the electricity that ran through him when her knuckles lightly dragged across the skin of his throat. "I'm sure I do, but I'm open to suggestions if you got 'em."

Leia nodded and focused on her fingers slipping past the neckline of his shirt. "I was thinking of an early dinner," she said. And then, with all the spark of her usual conflagrant coyness, she looked him dead in the eye. "Then you show me exactly what you were after at my office today."

His slow grin was all the answer he needed to give her.

XXX

Five days after Han told her of Cracken's offer, Leia continued to worry about it.

Curled up on their couch, Han tucked behind her and sliding his fingers over the skin of her stomach, she tried to focus on the here-and-now. The holoscreen in front of them blared smashball scores and injury lists. The rest of the apartment was dark and quiet; Chewie was staying on the Falcon tonight because he hadn't quite believed that Leia had agreed to watch the game live with Han. Han had informed her that Chewie's syntax hadn't simply meant oh, sure you are, as she had assumed. It'd been something along the lines of I'll just let you two do whatever it is you do when I make myself scarce.

They were, in fact, watching the game, but Leia had never liked smashball, and the quiet interludes between violent commentary allowed her mind to wander.

She hadn't told him about Cracken's offer to her.

Her initial fear that Han would overreact to her meeting with Cracken had kept her quiet. Han was in a precarious position with the Council, with Ackbar, and if he started a fight with the NRI she was afraid he might make an enemy out of nearly everyone in any position to help him fight against the forthcoming orders. Han didn't care about politics, but politics might be the only way to save him from another months-long tour.

So she hadn't said anything to him about meeting with Airen Cracken. Every time she thought about it, it inspired a barrage of guilt, as if she were hiding something important from him. And she wasn't. Not really. She'd rejected the offer and that was that.

Han also hadn't brought up his meeting with Cracken again, choosing instead to rail against Ackbar and the Mon Calamari's repeated threats to order him to the Teradoc negotiations. So far, the summons hadn't arrived, but Leia was steeling herself. When the bomb dropped, she would have to do some serious work to keep Han and the Provisional Council from killing each other.

And then, in the dark stillness of the night before she fell asleep, she felt that same feeling of unease. Luke had bolstered her resolve for a few days, but there were moments when she wanted to scream at the agonizing lethargy of the New Republic. People here, on Coruscant, were starving in the rubble of the Empire's stranglehold and there was no way to deliver rations to them? Parts of Imperial City's poorest levels had experienced a three-day water shortage but the droids couldn't reach them?

What good was government if it didn't actually help anyone?

Ultimately, she was satisfied with her life. There were times, yes, when she felt like she was being pulled in too many different directions. But those moments passed and with Han around she had no shortage of distractions. He was the most personal part of her personal life, the happy escape from the stress of her work. For every horrifying story of governmental failure, there was Han with an irreverent quip and a filthy smile.

He reminded her of what was truly important.

She functioned in two different spheres because she now had what she had always wanted for herself: a public life in which she was able to see a difference being made and a personal life that made her feel like it was all worth it.

I've learned two things about diplomats in my time here. One is that they feel the need to unnecessarily compartmentalize their lives.

She heard Airen Cracken's voice in her head and tried hard not to wince.

Are you under the impression that you function as a politician outside of how you function as a private citizen?

No. She knew "Han's Leia" was the same woman as "the New Republic's Leia". She hadn't compartmentalized her life that much.

Han's hand pulled her out of her dark musings and brought her back to herself. His hand shifted down the outside of her thigh with all the subtlety she'd ever expected from a Han Solo seduction; that is to say, none. She pushed Cracken out of her mind.

"I still don't understand why this is so fascinating to you," she said. "It's barbaric."

His head was propped up on the arm of the couch behind her, his chest warm against her back. His hand dipped down to the back of her knee. "Smashball isn't barbaric. It's great."

"For who?"

He laughed, the low rumble sitting deep in her chest. "For everyone that can't wiggle their fingers and get whatever they want."

She clucked her tongue in mock-anger. "I never did that."

"Fine. For people who have no hope of wiggling their fingers and getting whatever they want."

She was tempted to deny that, too, but it rang true. She switched track. "Now that you could buy tickets and see it live, why do you still watch it like this?"

"Have you seen what they're paying me?" His lips skimmed her ear and he pressed his forehead against the back of her head. "There's no way I could buy anything except maybe a holoset to watch the damn game."

She snorted. "You make more than that."

If he thought she'd lost track of where his hand was, how slowly it was creeping up the back of her leg, he was very mistaken. "I really don't. I have to supplement with your 'kept man' gig to break even sometimes."

"You would be a terrible kept man," she said. His hand had reached its goal, but she wasn't entirely prepared to give in yet. "Attitude is not part of the job description."

"No?" he said as she arched her back against him. His mouth fell to her neck and she could feel her skin flush beneath his lips. She felt like the air temperature of the room had suddenly doubled. "You aren't complaining."

"I didn't mean my kept man. I'm an easy customer when it comes to you. I'll pay you whatever you want."

He laughed as his other hand grabbed her waist and pulled her to her back, his knee sliding between her thighs. "Leia, if you were easy, I lost my game a long time ago."

He leaned into her, pressing his chest to hers and took her earlobe between his teeth, flicked his tongue against the shell. Leia sucked in a breath, closing her eyes against the way he held her. His knee pressing between her legs was creating inflamatory pressure and she rolled her hips against him, trying to deepen the inexplicable heat that blew through her body.

She pulled his head up, kissed him hard. His lips were rough against hers, the hand on her waist fiddling with the enclosures of her shirt. She could feel the pounding of her heartbeat in her ear as he settled against her hips, relishing the primitive part of her brain that rejoiced as his weight pushed her down.

"Is it a bad game, then?" she asked as she ran her fingers down the line of his arm.

He shook his head. "This is a better one."

Her arms came up around him and her legs wrapped around his thighs as she arched her head up to kiss him again. She wanted to be closer to him. She wanted him to surround her, to ground her to the reality around her. She wanted to cede control, just for a moment, just to him.

It was still a novelty to have him here for moments like this; it shouldn't be, but it was. Before Han she would have scoffed at the idea that rational adults could try to make up for lost time in the bedroom. And yet….

She had his shirt open, her hands sweeping over the expanse of his chest. His breathing quickened, harsh exhales on her collarbone as he dipped his head down and pressed the flat of his tongue to the crook of her neck. Two of his fingers crept past the waistband of her pants and Leia jerked her head to the side as he played with the fabric. She sighed a quick laugh, tenebrous energy running up and down her body everywhere her skin brushed his.

She felt punch-drunk and electrified and couldn't stop pressing her fingernails into his shoulder blades, though she knew he would complain about it later.

A ping signaled the door.

Leia pulled her hands from Han's neck as he sat up. The look on his face was as surprised as she felt. With a tight shake of his head, he lifted off her body, pulling on her hand to help her stand. He reattached her shirt fasteners for her as she worked to compose her face.

A second ping sounded and Leia rolled her eyes, trying to compose herself.

When she opened the door, there was a moment of too-bright light and then a garbled mess of a message tumbled out of the mouth of the man who stood there. She held up a hand and the intruder closed his mouth, giving her a moment to adjust to the light settings.

He was dressed in nondescript khaki browns but Leia spotted a suspicious-looking gun rig tied down one thigh. He was young and looked a little nervous, his military-cut hair short and severe. Without another word he extended his arm and held up an identification chip like a peace offering. Lieutenant Ky Thaneston, she read. New Republic Naval Services.

"I'm here for General Han Solo," he said in a surprisingly deep voice for a face so young.

She knew Han heard, a muttered curse his only reply. Without another word, he left the room in the direction of their bedroom.

She turned back to the young man at the door. "Are you here in an official capacity?" she asked.

Ky nodded. "From Admiral Ackbar."

Leia knew it had been coming, but the sting of betrayal raced from the heat still sitting low in her abdomen to her heart. She reined in her anger and tried to address the poor young messenger with a calm voice.

"Why a human messenger—?" she stopped herself. "Right. It's classified."

"I need to speak directly to General Solo, ma'am," he said. "Orders."

"Damn it, I'm here," she heard from her left.

She turned to see Han storm back into the entryway, wearing a more appropriate shirt. His hair was still a riotous mess from her fingers and his eyes were cold, the brilliant green spark gone. His hand snaked between her body and where she leaned into the doorframe. The gesture was incredibly familiar, meant to show a united front. Leia's heart broke.

"Do you have the notice with you?" Han asked.

"No, sir," the messenger said. "You're being summoned in person by an official delegate of the military."

Leia said turned to Han, partially blocking the messenger. Han's face was dark and she watched him swallow.

"That's it, then," she said quietly. "You're leaving."

The words were cold; she was anything but. Inside she was a mess of arousal, anger, and desperation. The blood surged in her veins, transforming the heat of their interrupted interlude into white-hot fury. How dare they? she thought. How dare they do this to him?

"Like hell I am. Go back to Ackbar and tell him he'll have to haul me in with binders and a blaster."

Ky's face flushed and he licked his lips, obviously nervous. "Sir, you can't just ignore a summons."

"Watch me," Han spat, curling his arm around Leia's waist and dragging her back into the entryway before the door swished closed.

She could feel how tight his body had become, the coiled strength of his arm around her body like permacrete. He hissed as he let her go and then he was gone, trudging back to the bedroom. Leia closed her eyes and dropped her head back, breathing steadily, her anger fading as resignation began to take hold.

He was bent over the bed when she walked in minutes later, rifling through a cloth bag the size of a pillowcase. His hair was flung into his eyes and his lips were pressed tightly together. He reminded her of a caged animal ready to attack: pure survival instinct.

Leia waited a beat before licking her lips and starting the conversation they both knew needed to happen. "Han—"

"They can't do this to me, Leia," he interrupted.

She didn't respond. They could absolutely do this to him. Legally, constitutionally, they could. Whatever her opinion, whatever his, they were well in their rights to order him wherever they saw fit. It might be ethically repugnant, and Leia might disagree with them and their motives, but they weren't doing anything illegal.

All she could do was voice her protest. All he could do was follow orders.

He hadn't found whatever he was looking for in the bag and turned his attention to the drawers and boxes under the bed. "What are you looking for?" she asked, coming around to the other side of the bed.

"A comm."

She checked the terminal screen on her nightstand. It was too late to call anyone other than medical personnel or perhaps Chewie. Or Luke, if he had been on-planet, which he wasn't. "Who are you going to call?" she asked, confused.

"I'm not a punk kid they can order wherever they want me to go." He pulled his hands out from under the bed and sat up, a discarded comm clutched in one tight fist. "I've sacrificed too much for them to fuck with my life whenever it's convenient. I'd go without a word if it was about saving someone, or taking out something important. But this? To help them get elected? No."

He sneered his last word, the waves of his anger almost palpable in the room. It reminded Leia of a moment nearly six years ago, before they were anything more than public enemies and private friends.

There are times when I think this isn't so bad. And then I have to remind myself that these are kids, kids who are dying for what you believe in. And I don't know, Princess. Is that a high enough gamble for you?

"I'm not saying that I agree with them," she said. He's going to march into Ackbar's office right now, blaster out and ready to go. "But running to HQ with Chewie and shooting up the place isn't going to change their minds. We need to think things through. We need a plan."

He gave her a frustrated look. She loved him and she didn't trust him when he got angry like this. She was safe, of course; he would sooner jump back into a carbonite pit than hurt her. But experience had taught her that Han Solo was a man that felt things absolutely, without a generic baseline to gauge his reactions. When he was angry, he was angry, and he would do what he thought he needed to do to protect himself and those he loved from danger.

Even if it was the danger of his own military success.

"Just go to Ackbar and request a reassignment," she said, grasping for any logical course of action.

He stood up, grabbed an old jacket from the bed. "Yeah, that's a great plan. They'd really reconsider if I asked them to nicely."

"They might."

"They won't, Leia. Think about it. I filed a complaint with Ackbar the day you told me about their plan, and all I got was that I'm the fittest officer for the assignment. Which is bullshit."

She closed her mouth. He was absolutely right.

Still in full tirade, he pointed across the room in the direction of the Imperial palace, home of the Provisional Council chambers. "That's what has them sending me. Not being the right man for the job. Politics. Optics."

Leia shook her head at his use of the ugly word she'd introduced to him. "So you're resigning your commission? They won't let you do that. You're too visible right now, too famous after Zsinj."

"Right." He shrugged into the jacket. "So I'm going to someone who can fix that."

She followed him to the door, brain spinning. "Who?"

"I'll give you three guesses," he said, reaching for the door controls.

Her skin prickled at the hitch in his voice, the pure determination in his voice. Leia reached for his hand, squeezed it and pulled him to her. "Do not sign anything. Do not give anyone your fingerprint. Do not promise a single thing until you talk to somebody. Me, or Chewie, or Luke. Even Lando. Promise me."

He extended his hand toward her, slid a finger down her neck from her jaw to her collarbone to where the shirt she was wearing interrupted his trail. "Yeah," he said. "I promise."

He pulled her into his chest, held her tight, kissed the top of her head. And then he left. Leia stood at the entryway and watched the door hiss shut, thinking of his overwhelming resolve, the mountain of courage and stubbornness that steeled his spine.

Then she moved back to the entertainment area, sat on the couch and watched what was left of the smashball game. She sighed and curled up to wait for Han, her knees to her chest, as she watched Rip Calkin score again and again against a team of hooded black figures.