Once, Leia had been familiar with the idea of rest. But now, like eating or bathing- living, when it came down to it- she wondered, after everyone turned in, and they left her alone, what exactly she was supposed to do. What they expected of her.
She lay down on top of the sheet, still in her Death Star dress, her eyes wide at the ceiling, and she tried not to think. It seemed she did not deserve sleep. And then her body would betray her, for suddenly a voice warned her awake, Leia! which meant she had been asleep.
Sleep and wakefulness, so opposite and sudden. Like the difference between consciousness and death, Leia thought. When the laser touched Alderaan all those lives were snuffed.
I am not dead.
Her eyes traced the ceiling through the darkness, the smooth flatness, the rivets holding the panels in place.
Sleep is different than death. I am not dead.
She was breathing, conscious. Someday she would be dead, and she wondered what it would be like, to die. What it had been like for her father, for everyone. Her body was on top of a sheet, and she was aware of it, and imagined it shutting down, little by little, into death, as her mother's had done seven years ago.
Sometimes twelve year old Leia couldn't tell where the line separating mother and queen was drawn. The queen was not scared to die. Alderaan's history contained more than a thousand years of queens, and Breha Organa was content to have her time. But as a mother... Leia had seen something in her mother's eyes; she thought it was reluctance even though her mother did not fight. Hindsight told her Breha was scared for her daughter.
"Death will always join a family at some point," Breha wiped her daughter's tears away. "I can think of two constants in a family," she continued, "though there may be more. Death and love. Leilei. Look at me," and she lifted her daughter's chin. "Love doesn't die. And I love you."
But a laser, Mati, Leia thought in her bunk. Murder. Genocide. So different than an illness.
Her father had sent the twelve maidens out of the queen's chamber. They had not wanted to leave. Some were crying. Leia had followed them out. Her father's dark head, bent low to her mother's face, her hand in his, turned. "Leia?" he said, pleading in his eyes. Stay, he was saying.
She stood outside with the maidens and listened to them cry quietly, and looked at her feet, because she was not crying.
Her mother had said goodbye to her already, when she knew there was no saving her. Outside with the maidens, Leia was grateful. When her mother said goodbye, she had been the woman Leia knew. Still cognizant, loving, and the- Leia felt bad for thinking this, because it wasn't a terrible... it was just... death's process- the odor hadn't started to issue from her mother's body yet.
In there, with her father... he was frightened, and so were the maidens, but Leia wasn't. Her mother was already gone, before the body's last breath. Leia knew it. She was a child. She wasn't a coward. She just wanted her mother, and the... the... how to say it? 'Body' sounded so crude, 'being' wasn't quite right, but whatever- whoever- was on that bed was not her mother.
It was death.
Leia was not afraid of death. Not then, and not now.
Death does what it is supposed to do.
She was afraid now, and she recognized the emotion as an intellectual exercise, and sought how to banish it. She needed to identify it first. Afraid of dying? Of lasers, or murder? Of being alone and having nothing? Of helplessness.
Watching, she decided. Watching a laser, which would murder so many as one planet; watching from afar as all those healthy beings were going about their days, dying and they weren't aware of it. Leia was watching, and she was helpless to do anything about it.
Worse if they were aware. As Viceroy, her father would calm the populace. Probably, he had lied to them about the scope of the disaster. Let them think there was a chance. Seek shelter, he might advise. A cellar. Go to the underground speeder routes. And there they would huddle, and wait; scared, yes, but hopeful too, that there was a chance, a chance they might survive this.
Maybe her father even believed it. The Death Star was the first of such laser technology. At the time Tarkin said, "You may fire when ready," it was a gamble how successful it would be.
Her memories- every time she had one, and since she had nothing else all she did was think of the past- they were a lie. Her mind showed her images, of a little butterfly at a window, of the servants going about their day in the palace, and everything was pointless. Twelve hundred years of civilization turned pointless when Princess Leia stood on the bridge of the Death Star, Darth Vader's fingers digging into her shoulders as their gazes beheld the planet Alderaan, and Grand Moff Tarkin's voice, so smooth and cultured, said, "You may fire when ready." He had chided her, "You are far too trusting."
No. Leia was aware she'd been cheated from seeing him aware of his own last moments, of seeing him afraid. Not too trusting. Too... How he ruined everything, and her fists clenched the sheet on the bunk of the Falcon. That his ambition, so trivial in the face of a servant cleaning the chambers, was what threatened to destroy her. And she can't stop seeing him, that gaunt face, self-satisfied and triumphant, you may fire-
Leia!
Leia held her body still while her heart thumped so loud she couldn't hear if there was more. It sounded like a warning, but she didn't recognize the voice. Maybe it was her own.
The soles of her feet burned. It had to be imaginary pains; the interrogation drugs had time to work through her body by now, but there was no going back to sleep.
She ventured out, the floor blessedly cool against her bare feet, and found her way to the lounge. The ramp was up, and she could hear Han's voice outside once or twice as she moved through the ship, talking with someone about hyperdrive systems. The ship's interior lights were set to low, but it was bright enough to see Luke sitting at the holochess table.
His feet were up on the bench, his neck craned upward so his eyes were directed at the ceiling.
He noticed her. "Did I wake you?"
She felt groggy, a little disembodied as the voice still rang in her ears. "No." She shook her head. "I don't think so. Unless- did you call my name?"
Luke moved his head from side to side, and the hair against the metal plating rose up with static electricity. "I was thinking about you," he said, and grinned ruefully, "but I don't think that loud." He moved his feet so she could sit.
"Chewie, lower the deck plate," Han ordered from outside.
"Han's working," Luke said.
"At this time of night?" Leia said.
"Night shift has loads for him. They want everything ready for tomorrow."
The upcoming evacuation silenced them both. They listened for a time at the noises outside the ramp. There were slaps of heavy things dropped, one word shouts, Chewie growling.
"Only been two nights here," Luke said finally. "Feels like forever."
"It does," Leia agreed, but she wondered if she would remember these days of inaction years from now.
"Do you drink?" Luke asked.
"For occasions," Leia answered. She was becoming used to his directionless talk. "On occasion. With dinner. Do you?"
"Well," he looked wryly at a glass in front of him on the table, "I started. Han's got some stuff. Want some?"
"Sure." After Luke had served her and resumed his seat, she said, "You shouldn't have much. You're flying?"
Luke nodded as he swallowed. "Been nursing this one. Wedge warned me."
"How is he?"
Luke's voice was high and light. "Good." He was lying probably.
Leia took a sip. It wasn't like the wines Alderaan had produced. A deep gold, and she expected it to be syrupy thick, but it wasn't. Rough on her throat, but followed with a sweetness. "Are you good?"
Luke shrugged. "I guess. Yeah." He laughed once, bitterly. "Think that counselor ruined me."
Leia jerked her head up, alarmed. "Why do you say that?"
"She was asking about things. Aspects, I think she called them. If I have nightmares, or can't sleep, or startle at noises." Luke drank. "And here I am, can't sleep."
"It's just this one night," Leia soothed.
"Yeah."
"Will you tell her?"
"No. Wedge had a nightmare. That's why I'm here. He didn't want me to stay. Not going to tell her that, either."
Leia almost shared with Luke about the voice, about her mother, but it seemed he wasn't really sleepless; the issue was Wedge's nightmare.
From outside they heard Han say, merry and awake, "If I added up all the light years I traveled..." and laughter followed before he'd even finished.
"Han doesn't know about my aunt and uncle," Luke said.
Again, Leia's head jerked up. "He doesn't?"
"He might now, but not from me. That was Before Death Star. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't know him. And After Death Star, I told any one I met, and I already met him, so he missed it." He laughed that bitter laugh once again.
"Part of the debriefing," Leia said.
"Ben knew."
"I'm sure he was supportive," Leia murmured.
"I don't know," Luke took a sip and swirled it in his cheek a long time. "He kept me busy on the ship. Started lightsaber training."
"On the ship?"
"Yeah. Han has this remote targeting thing." Luke shrugged. "Guess he practices while in hyper. I suppose a smuggler's got to stay sharp."
"Busy so you wouldn't dwell," Leia suggested.
Luke nodded. "I thought that, too. But I think... he was relieved to get off Tatooine. Like a chapter closed. They were dead, he got me, and he could leave."
Leia was interested. "You think he had his own agenda?"
Luke was still nodding. "He was trying to get me away before I knew they'd been killed. And once offplanet, he started right in with the lessons, like it was an important hurry."
Leia watched Luke study the liquid in his glass. "Luke, are you troubled?"
He took a deep breath. "So many questions, you know?"
"Yes."
"You, too." Luke slid his glass back and forth on the table's surface. "Ben felt Alderaan, you know, when it happened. I thought he was about to faint. He said he heard a million voices-" Luke broke off. "I'm not sure that helps."
Leia's lips twitched wryly. "It doesn't."
"Want to hear something else? I asked Dodonna if I could go home-"
"Go home?" Leia interrupted, unable to hide her disappointment and envy.
"For the Darklighters," Luke said. "I want to let them know about Biggs. Make it right for them."
"Oh," Leia relaxed a little and took a sip. "That's very kind of you." She was sure she knew the answer, but she asked anyway. "What did General Dodonna say?"
"'No'," Luke kept his lips rounded, though the word was clipped. Leia couldn't help but smile a little at him. "He said leave is for family. The Darklighters are like family, though; Biggs and me-" he flipped a palm. "And furlough isn't earned until after a year, if I live that long."
"You think you won't either?"
"We're closer to death than we are to life, don't you think?" Luke said, his eyes hangdog. "That's beside the point. He said-"
"What are you two doing?" Han entered the lounge, peeling off a pair of gloves and tucking a portion into his belt. He surveyed the scene before him.
Luke raised his glass. "Having a drink."
"Well, don't just sit there," Han ordered. "Pour me one, too. Move over, sweetheart." He was partially seated before Leia had a chance to scurry away, and she had to tug her gown away from under Han's leg.
"Don't sit on me," she groused, her cheeks warm. Had he called her that before? She should say something, speak up. But he had come back, and given her berth. He could be long gone, or if he was sticking around for a charter he could treat Luke and Leia as delivered cargo and hang out with the pilots, making space talk. But he didn't. Instead he practically sat on her.
"Here you go, Han." Luke slid a glass over to him.
Both Leia and Luke watched Han take a deep drink and swallow with satisfaction.
"Aren't you flying tomorrow?" Luke said.
"Who says I can't enjoy a drink or three before lifting off?" Han demanded.
"I guess you say."
"Finish about General Dodonna, Luke," Leia reminded Luke of their previous conversation.
"Oh, yeah. He said I can't go, except with the Alliance, because they can keep me safe. Apparently, Darth Vader learned my name."
Again, Leia felt that odd mix of envy and disappointment. "How?" she wanted to know.
"I don't know." Luke shrugged. "They put two and two together, I guess. From tracking the droids on Tatooine. Any moisture farmer could tell a trooper the names of those living in the Lars homestead. I sure hope the Darklighters are okay."
Han frowned. "I thought your name was Skywalker."
"It is. I lived with my aunt and uncle." Luke slid his eyes to Leia meaningfully. "And maybe they got a school picture, and matched it to the footage from the Death Star security cameras."
Han poured himself another drink. "Just shows the Empire can navigate bureaucracy better than it can shoot a target."
Luke grunted appreciatively.
"You know, there's something you can do for the Darklighters," Leia said. "There's a department of personal effects here. The droids have an inventory catalog. You can add something to your friend's."
"Add what?"
"Like a letter. Whatever you wanted them to know in person, you can write it down and it will be sent with his belongings."
"Oh," Luke said eagerly. "That's an idea! I think I will."
"If there's time," Leia added. "They had a good deal packed already."
"You can make the droids undo it," Han said. "Droids don't complain. A human would, but not a droid."
"3PO would," Luke and Leia said together.
"Write a letter to Darth Vader while you're at it," Han half-joked.
Luke smiled. "Leave it where he can find it after we're gone."
"No," Leia said. "Put it on the suck sand."
"And say what?" Luke pondered. "'Dear Lord Vader. You may be congratulating yourself that you have learned my name. But the whole galaxy has congratulated me for being Red Five.'"
"That pretty much is true," Leia allowed graciously. "The Empire has got to be unnerved."
"Palpatine's spinning in his hover ball," Han said.
"What hover ball?" Luke asked. "I never heard anything about a hover ball."
"How he gets around," Han said. "One of those ridiculous stories."
"It's not true? We don't hear anything in the Outer Rim."
"It's not true." Han turned to Leia, appraising her up and down. "Your Heightness, you want to sleep in something other than that dress?"
"Who said I'm sleeping in this dress?" Leia retorted. It felt good- it felt familiar, to have a swift response.
"Oh," Han straightened against the bunk, trying to hide a smile, "You didn't have to dress on our account, then."
"Move," Leia ordered him. "I'm going back to the bunk."
"Me, too," Luke said. "I want to get moving and win this war, but I am glad for the couple of days here with you guys. It's been helping me." He shook his head good-humoredly. "Write a letter to Vader," he simpered. "I don't know if you feel the same, Leia, but... it... not normalizes things, but it does make it feel... manageable. Biggs would do that, too."
Luke turned to Han. "Han, I don't know if you knew. The Empire killed my aunt and uncle. Over the droids."
"Yeah. I heard."
"I wanted you to know it from me. G'night, Leia. G'night, Han."
"'Night, kid."
"Goodnight, Luke."