a/n: this here chapter is a pivotal chapter... :D
Thirteen
Chewbacca was accustomed to the music of a steady stream of swearing that usually echoed around the Millennium Falcon while its captain tinkered with it; however, the swearing today was not only unusually colourful, but more aggressive and abusive – usually Han's swearing at the ship was marginally affectionate. The shift in cursing norms indicated to the Wookiee that Han was actually pissed about something else, and the ship just happened to be the thing he could swear at about it.
He figured he was right when Han stormed into the main hold, half-covered in black grease, gingerly cradling his hand in his palm with a terse look on his face.
"Chewie," he barked. "Where's the - ?"
[Don't howl at me. I didn't do anything to you]. Chewbacca interrupted snarkily.
Han glared daggers at him.
"C'mon, pal, I slammed these fingers with the hydrospanners twice."
[You aren't supposed to use hydrospanners to bang on things.]
"The screws were loose!"
[Since when are you so clumsy with tools?]
"CHEWIE!" he hollered.
Chewbacca pulled back his lips in a slightly mocking grin, and got up from the game he'd been rigging to only let him win, shuffling around Han to fetch the emergency medical kit. He grumbled vaguely under his breath, because he knew the best way to get Han to 'fess up to what was wrong with him was to assume something incorrectly and have Han defend himself –
"I'm not banned from the bedroom," Han said loudly, falling into the trap perfectly. "I haven't even seen Leia today."
Chewbacca grumbled pointedly, coming back in. Han sneered at him.
"Because she was gone when I woke up, that's why," he retorted. He snatched the kit from Chewie and sat down, scowling. "Probably off planning the rest of my military career," he added tersely, ripping a miniature pack of bacta open with his teeth.
Chewbacca tilted his head.
[I sense trouble in your relationship.]
"Oh you do, do you?" Han muttered. "You sound like Luke, sensing things," he grumbled, focusing pointedly on his mashed up thumb and forefinger – a little voice in his head warned him Leia was going to be pissed off that he'd hurt himself, and he squashed it – he didn't care right now.
[What's your problem? You've been snarling like a Krayt all morning.]
Han grit his teeth, consider telling Chewie to mind his own business. He injected his hand with a small dose of serum for the throbbing pain and then flexed his fingers, frowned, and looked up, leaning back in a slump.
"They keep changin' my orders," he complained. "Yesterday, I get told I'm deployed to Madine's garrison in the Western Reaches, and I've got to leave to dock with them in three days – this morning, that order's rescinded."
[Well, you didn't want to go to the Reaches. You were bitching about it yesterday.]
"I wasn't bitching – "
[Bitching.]
Han glared at him. Chewbacca shrugged, and the Corellian wrinkled his nose, accepting that he probably had been whining about having to go yesterday.
"Okay," he growled sarcastically, "So yeah, I didn't want to go."
[Now you want to go?]
"No, I don't want to – look, the first thing I did was tell Her Holiness that I was being dispatched, and the first thing I see this morning is that they changed their minds – and wouldn't you know, she was up and gone before I even woke up."
Chewbacca blinked at him warily – he wasn't sure what the problem was, but when Han reverted back to sardonic nicknames for the Princess, it usually wasn't a good sign. Still, he couldn't see why Han being able to stay was a negative thing, because he'd just said yesterday that it was the worst possible time for them to make him leave Leia –
Chewie shrugged.
[Now you can stay. You don't have to worry about how the Princess is handling things.]
"Yes, I do," barked Han. "That's the kriffin' point, Chewie – she went straight to command and had them nix my orders, and she doesn't need to be doing that – "
[She doesn't want you to go!]
"When Leia starts interfering in the government for personal reasons, something's wrong!" Han snapped tensely. "This is a woman who refused to decide on rescuing her own father because it might be impartial."
Chewbacca bared his teeth in a warning growl.
[Don't get angry with her because you feel emasculated.]
Han's jaw dropped angrily. He leaned forward, raising his uninjured hand to point at Chewbacca, but nothing came to mind right away to fire back. In the silence, Chewbacca nodded pointedly.
[You just don't like that she has more power than you.]
"That's not it," Han snarled nastily.
Chewbacca folded his arms.
"Look, it's bad for both of us if it looks like I get special treatment – "
"Who exactly do you think is giving you special treatment?"
Chewbacca whipped around at the cool question, and found the Princess herself standing in the entrance to the main hold, her expression slightly stony. Chewie softened his expression and huffed a small greeting, which Leia acknowledged briefly before narrowing her eyes at Han. He glanced down at his hand in irritation and then looked back up.
"When did you get here?" he asked, both sheepish and sour.
"Right about the moment you insinuated I'm abusing my power to keep you chained to my ankle," she said coolly.
"Hey," he snapped. "That's not what I said."
"It sure sounded like it."
Han and Leia looked at each other, and Chewbacca, after a moment, unfolded his arms and raised his paws, hastily warbling that he was going to leave before this got any more explosive.
"No need, Chewie, I won't be long," Leia said curtly.
[I'm still going to go hide in the cockpit.]
Han rolled his eyes at the Wookiee, and slumped back, fixing his eyes on Leia stubbornly.
"You had them change my orders," he accused irritably.
She eyed him from the doorway, and then stepped fully into the hold, crossing her arms tightly. He noticed she was wearing white – not all white, but a white blouse that buttoned elegantly at her neck, coupled with a demure, military khaki skirt.
"I did not go straight to command and have them nix your orders," she answered finally, succinctly reciting his earlier words.
He gave her a skeptical look.
"Then why'd they suddenly change their mind?' he demanded.
"Han, in one of my briefings with General Madine yesterday, I raised the question of why they needed you in the Reaches – "
Han bristled.
"So, you did go and interfere."
"Han," she began again, her voice taking on an edge of warning.
"No," he snapped. "Don't do that. Look, I wasn't thrilled to get sent off either, but I can't have you meddling. It makes it look like I'm just at your beck and call."
"That's ridiculous," she said flatly.
"It's only ridiculous to you because you have your own title outside of the New Republic!" he pointed out angrily. He paused, and stood up. "Leia, you know, I can deal with the bantha fodder on the holonet because it's pointless gossip about us, but you do stuff like this and they'll start saying you're corrupt, and I'm not gonna listen to that."
She blinked at him, her muscles relaxing – she knew he was considerably pissed about her apparent interference, but it was humbling to hear he was worried about her credibility as well.
He frowned, a muscle in his temple twitching tensely.
"I don't like being jerked around."
"That's not what's going on," she snapped. "I thought it was suspicious that you were being sent to the Reaches, considering you led the most brutal of the campaigns before the final showdown with Zsinj. Your orders weren't to expire for the next half year – "
"The Galaxy's unstable; things change."
"—so I mentioned it to Carlist, and he told me he didn't give the order," she finished, ignoring his interjection.
She waited, and watched how the annoyance in his face faded for a confused moment, and then reappeared.
"What?" he asked. "Rieekan's always in charge of my orders."
"Which is precisely why I mentioned it to him," Leia said crisply. "I had a hunch when you told me that order came out of nowhere."
Han started to shake his head.
"Look, I don't care who gave the order, it still looks bad for you to go messing with it," he said roughly. "It makes me look weak – "
"Weak?"
"Yeah, weak! It makes me look like all I got to do is whine to you, and I avoid the tough stuff. Or, it makes you look like you're using your influence to make sure your concubine isn't in the line of fire."
Leia groaned and lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
"Oh, who told you about the concubine thing?"
"That's all you've got to say?" he goaded.
Leia uncrossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
"Han, I don't have time to deal with the holes in your masculinity – "
"What the – you and Chewie – this is not about my – "
"You're complaining about looking weak, about my power," she listed. "Will you stop and think for a minute about why you were reassigned?" she paused only for a beat. "Before you bit my head off, consider the fact that Jan Dodonna purposely tried to send you off to a region that doesn't need you."
Han fell silent, looking at her warily. Her brow darkened.
"Madine told me explicitly he doesn't need reinforcements of your caliber, and Rieekan didn't hear about the order," she said stiffly. "The only reason I interfered," she said the world acidly, "is because I assumed Dodonna instigated the order to keep you out of sight for a while. Because he thinks this is infatuation," she went on, exhaustion creeping into her tone. "Because he thinks if you were away, and I was insulated by Father, and Aunt Rouge, that this," she gestured between them wildly, "would fade."
When she stopped talking, he stood there with his banged up hand on the table, and his other hanging lamely at his side. He clenched his teeth together in anger at Dodonna's nerve, and he grimaced – mostly at himself, for jumping down her throat, but in some ways at the situation in general. The political landscape they constantly had to navigate was beyond frustrating, and Han had always hated politics.
While he stared at her, somewhat reluctant to retract his words, she lifted a hand to her forehead tensely, and compressed her lips before speaking again.
"I know we keep our personal lives separate from our professional involvements," she said tightly. "But if I hold myself to that standard, I will hold my colleagues to it, and my interference in this isn't something that is going to get out – and if it does, Han?" she said, her eyes flashing. "I don't know if I care."
He lifted his brows, and she shrugged.
"I'll throw Jan to the gundarks," she said callously, "and then he can explain why he's so incapable of accepting my personal involvements that he's playing games with the military."
Han scowled at the thought of the troublesome general, but he felt irritable all the same – not necessarily at Leia any longer, but at the whole situation. The stress, as much as he hated to admit it, was getting to him – everyone was walking on eggshells, and it all seemed to get worse as the press conference approached – he felt like he was about to be offered up for the slaughter.
He felt, quite simply, like his future with Leia was on the line, about to be decided by Viceroy Organa and the court of public opinion, and he'd never bothered to think about it that much before. He had no reason to doubt Leia, but the fear of losing her made him irrational.
Leia sighed, frustrated.
"I'd be lying if I said I had no interest in keeping you here," she said shortly, "but I didn't do this to belittle you or undermine things – and I think you know me better than that," she added, her tone cooling again.
He ran a hand over his face, scratching at his chin uncomfortably.
"I'm glad I stopped by," she said dryly. "I'd have enjoyed this fight less if I came home to it after work."
She inclined her head, and in the time it took him to blink, she'd started to turn and leave.
"Leia," he called, sighing. "Leia, don't go back to work pissed."
She stopped, her back to him, and when she turned around, her face was paler.
"Han, this press conference is tomorrow," she said apprehensively. "After that, the Alderaanians won't be sequestered anymore; their news intake won't be monitored, and frankly, the focus will probably go back on us," she said tersely. "When that happens, the only person I want speaking for you," she took a deep breath, "is you."
Han swallowed – he knew that, and that's what he was afraid of. There was no guarantee – hell, no chance, really – that Bail Organa's reaction would be Winter's reaction. On top of that, he'd spent so much time wary of Leia's father, that it hadn't occurred to him to think of anyone else, until at dinner Winter had mentioned several times how Leia's aunts had hassled her to marry several members of the Imperial court.
There was just so much he'd never considered about what her status as a Princess really meant – or what it had meant, before Alderaan, and before the Alliance had become her life – and his Princess Leia, the one that belonged to him, was not the one that Alderaan had known. He had no doubt that she was being torn apart by so many aspects of this, and he wanted nothing more than for everyone to just leave them alone.
She approached him after a moment, and reached for his injured hand. She sighed, examining the bruised, scraped, and recently bloodied nails. Her fingers traced the black grease stains decorating his skin.
"Why'd you come by, anyway?" He asked after a moment, watching her hands. "I thought you were doing more Viceroy prep."
She licked her lips quietly.
"We were," she said. "My relationship with him feels very inauthentic right now," she murmured. "I feel like I can't breathe when I'm with him, after a while." She looked up. "I came to tell you I won't be at the press conference with him. And," she trailed off. "Well, I was gone so early this morning, I don't believe I've kissed you."
He raised his brows at her and then, after a moment, grinned, and lifted her up, perching her on the table. He leaned forward and kissed her, taking her shoulders in his hands. She smiled, kissing him back contently. She pulled back after a moment, her expression troubled.
"Mon Mothma ultimately asked me not to be there," she confided.
"You're old news," Han said, shrugging teasingly. "He's not."
Leia didn't smile.
"He didn't seem to fight her on it," Leia said quietly.
"Leia," Han soothed, reaching up to touch her cheek. He stroked her jaw with his thumb. She tilted her head pursing her lips.
"He's not used to me in a position this high ranking. He thinks it's fitting that I not be exposed."
"You were a Senator," Han said warily. "You weren't just Alderaanian décor in the Imperial Court when he last saw you, Princess."
She sighed – it was hard to explain the dynamic. Her father had always encouraged her independence, encouraged her to be ambitious, to be a leader, but there had still been some level of deference to him beore she'd lost him – she'd consulted him, respected him – the whole mission to Tatooine had been at his behest, and she sensed that her father was unable to fully realize that these days, there was virtually no one she deferred to politically – at least not when it came to confidence in her decisions.
"Han?" she said after a moment, pulling back.
He thought for a moment she wanted to ask him something important, but then he saw a narrow glint in her eye.
"Is there engine grease on my face?"
He suddenly remembered he was covered in it. He looked at his hand, looked at her cheek – and the large smudge of blackish grey he'd left – and then thrust his hand behind his back.
"Uhh," he started.
"Han!" she shrieked, looking down – and then, naturally they both noticed that he'd gotten grease smudges all over her white blouse. "Han!" she cried again, shoving him away from her.
He tried not to laugh. He tried to look contrite, but something about sending her back to the political arena with grease stains peppering her clothing was smugly satisfying.
He grinned, and raised his hands, even managing to wriggle his injured one at her.
"Come here, Sweetheart, I'll give you a mark on your neck to match," he threatened, lunging forward.
She shrieked and tried half-heartedly to push him away, and when Chewbacca moseyed in to see if the fighting had been resolved, and to see what the fuss was about, he was relieved that all the noise was now laughter, but at the sight of Han pinning Leia to the table, he gave an indignant howl to remind them he was still there.
"Kid," Han said dryly, looking around Luke's completely barren apartment, "you need to learn how to have some fun."
Luke, looking slightly disheveled, frowned, folding his arms.
"I have fun."
"It looks like no one lives here."
"Well, I sleep at the old Jedi Temple a lot."
Han stared at Luke, and then arched an eyebrow.
"The one that burned down and ended up buried under the city?" he asked.
"I fall asleep…meditating…oh, like you've never woken up in a weird place," Luke retorted, scowling.
"Yeah," Han said pointedly. "After having fun. Not after talking to some ghosts."
"Did you come over to make fun of the Force?"
"I came over because you asked me to," Han answered. "Are you going to offer me a nice, polite, drink?"
Luke nodded after a moment, and gestured vaguely at the living room – well, at least there was furniture. The kid's apartment really was utterly empty, and Han was surprised because he'd been living here for several months now. It would be logical for at least some sign of habitation to have popped up.
"I asked if you and Leia wanted to go to dinner," Luke said, fumbling around in the kitchen – he didn't want Han to discover he barely owned any cups or utensils or – anything.
"She's busy," Han answered. "I could eat."
"Where is she?" Luke asked, coming back into the living room with glasses of water. "I thought she'd be taking an early night, since the press conference is tomorrow."
Han shrugged, reclining on the couch.
"I dunno where she is."
"You always know where Leia is."
"Hey," Han said, glaring. "That makes me sound creepy."
Luke handed him the cup, and Han peered at the water in amusement – trust Luke Skywalker to offer boring, completely nonalcoholic water to guests. Han set it aside and sighed, rubbing his jaw.
"I think," he said slowly, "she's gone with Rieekan to speak with the Alderaanians that are not her father, or Winter, or Rouge," he decided. "She just said she'd be back late."
"She won't eat," Luke said glumly. "Make her eat when she gets home."
"I can't make Leia do anything," Han muttered.
Luke tilted his head thoughtfully. True; no one really made Leia do things she didn't want to do. But if anyone could coax her into something, it was Han. He shook his head, frowning to himself.
"Speaking of Winter, I heard your meeting with her went well," he remarked.
Han's face lit up mischievously.
"Boy does she have some stories," he drawled. "Apparently Leia was a real nightmare on Alderaan."
"Uh," Luke said dryly, "she was a nightmare when we met her."
"Yeah, but she was messed up," Han said bluntly. "I mean she was a carefree nightmare."
"Is nightmare the right word?"
"From the way Winter tells it? Yes."
Luke grinned, taking the bait.
"Okay; give me some," he said, eager for some friendly fire to hang over her head.
"For starters, she was obsessed with a Corellian soap opera about fighter pilots," Han said smugly.
Luke snorted.
"So you're just cheap fantasy fulfillment."
Han spread out his arms dramatically.
"Happy to help," he bragged. He rested his arms on the back of Luke's couch. "She cut her hair off twice. Once before a formal presentation," he recalled – Winter had recounted the story of Leia's aunts shrieking at her like roasting mynocks while Bail tried to talk to her sternly, and yet couldn't seem to stop smiling.
"Huh," Luke mused. "But she keeps it so long now," he muttered.
Han shrugged – he guessed that had a lot to do with tradition. She may have hated the hassle on Alderaan, but now it was something she'd never take for granted. A gesture of respect, no doubt.
"Let's see," Han drawled. "She used to have Winter go to formal functions for her and impersonate her so she could sneak out and be 'normal'."
"What? Winter looks nothing like her."
"I think that was the joke," Han snorted. "The visiting delegations weren't always aware of what Leia looked like, but her family was, and it put them in a very awkward position."
Luke stared at him incredulously.
"Winter didn't mind?"
"Winter said it was much more fun pretending to be the Princess than being the Princess," Han quoted. "And, she was expelled from primary school," Han added.
"I don't believe you," Luke said flatly.
Han nodded, feigning solemnity. Luke glared at him defiantly, and then faltered, raising his brows.
"For what?" he asked, exasperated. "Primary school?"
"She staged a protest because the orange juice was in those little boxes, instead of fresh squeezed," Han said, trying not to laugh, "and she somehow fixed it so anything that mentioned the Emperor's name replaced it with a swear word. And she played the Old Republic anthem over the loud speakers, which was illegal back in those days. So they asked her parents to take her back."
Luke stared at him in shock, unsure if he was impressed or affronted. He'd somehow always imagined his sister as an upstanding paragon of perfect behavior –
"How old was she?"
"Six or seven?" Han remembered, frowning. He shrugged. "She said her father started taking her to Senate meetings after that, until she went to the University."
"Do you know what I was doing in primary school?" Luke asked moodily.
"Getting your ass kicked," Han guessed.
Luke scowled at him. He pointed to the ever-present lightsaber attached to his belt dramatically.
"If they could see me now – " he threatened lightly. He looked thoughtful a moment. "I guess I'm not surprised Leia was like that," he ventured after a moment. "How is she?" Luke asked.
Han shrugged.
"Fine."
Luke gave him a withering look.
"Where's her head?"
Han looked at him edgily.
"I don't like it when you ask me about her head," he warned.
Luke blinked at him, brow furrowing.
"But I'm worried about her."
"It's invasive," Han retorted. "It feels underhanded. Look, I'm not gonna betray her trust like that and gossip behind her back."
Luke gave him a baleful look.
"You just told me a bunch of stuff about her that I didn't know," he pointed out, annoyed. "And how come that doesn't apply when you're mad at her?" he whined.
Han ran a hand over his face.
"It's different," he insisted warily. "'Cause," he reasoned out, "Bitchin' about her attitude is one thing, so's telling old stories. Blabbing about stuff she only tells me isn't right."
"I'm not asking you to tell me what her pet names for you are," Luke argued. "I'm just concerned she's acting like she was while you were in carbonite – I didn't know she was Force sensitive then, but she was in such a bad place…" he trailed off for a moment, and shook his head tensely.
"If you want to know, ask her," Han said stubbornly. He waved his hand. "Can't you sense her with your Force thing, anyway?" he asked, slightly irritable.
Luke shook his head.
"Only when she lets me," he said tiredly. "Leia's more powerful than I am. She just won't embrace it."
"Can you blame her?" Han snapped, bristling. "You dropped that power in her lap the same day you told her Vader was her father," he growled.
Luke held up his hands contritely.
"I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject," he said grudgingly. He rubbed his face and sighed, looking haggard for a moment. He didn't look at Han, but he looked troubled. "I think she hates me sometimes," he confessed finally. "Hates me, or is scared of me."
He got the feeling that Leia more than resented him for his forgiveness of Vader; she took it as a deeply personal affront. He didn't blame her, he just had the benefit of meditation, and peace through the Force, and she wouldn't allow him to show her even the slightest path to respite.
Han frowned at him.
"I don't have any pet names," he muttered after a moment.
Luke managed a smile, and Han looked at him warily; the kid really was worried, and even before they'd known they were siblings, he and Leia had been close. The disheartening thing about the familial revelation was that it seemed to have drawn Leia away from him. Han had noticed it, too. He was tempted to tell Luke that it had nothing to do with him, really, but he stuck to his guns; Leia needed to be able to trust him completely, or she wouldn't open up even to him.
"Look, I'll tell her you're worried," Han muttered. "Everyone's expecting her to act a certain way," he added, nettled. He swallowed, hesitating, and then said, quietly: "You can't act like her not wanting to be a Jedi means she's one of the bad guys, you know," he said gruffly. "Maybe she's just a politician."
Luke blinked – he didn't know if Han had inadvertently given him a hint, or if he'd done it deliberately, but he did abruptly realize that Leia's aversion to him might be because she interpreted his desperation to teach her as fear that she was a dark alternative to all his light – but it wasn't that; it wasn't that at all. Leia was as human as anyone else; she could be angry, she could be selfish, she could be a thousand things, but a Sith would never be one of them – there was too much honor in her.
If losing Alderaan, and then nearly losing Han, the one person she'd let in after that great disaster, hadn't unleashed a vortex of dark power, then nothing would, and he had to find a way to tell her that.
Han looked at Luke a minute longer and then rolled his eyes, taking pity on him.
"Big picture: she's not suicidal," he said bluntly.
Luke looked pale, and appalled.
"She's been suicidal before?"
Han stared at him.
"Kid, work with me," he said, exasperated. "That was just a broad statement."
Luke still looked troubled, and Han rolled his eyes. To his knowledge Leia had never been specifically suicidal; she had always found something to drive her after tragedy. She'd had revenge after Alderaan; she'd seen that revenge through to the destruction of the Empire – she'd had to find him after Bespin, and now he supposed there was quite a bit else popping up.
But – he might have been apprehensive, just for a little while, in the few weeks after they'd moved into their apartment and it felt like they had nothing to do but dwell on everything that had happened during the war. He was starting to feel that whisper of apprehension now, but he didn't mention it to Luke.
"Why don't I change the subject," Han said loudly.
"Okay, but my last word is that I just care about her," Luke muttered.
"Bet I care about her more," Han retorted.
"You're making this a competition?"
"Yeah, and I win."
"I'm her brother."
"You've known that for what, a year?" Han mocked. "Me, on the other hand – "
"Now you're bragging for chasing her around like an idiot when she was ignoring you."
"Watch it, kid, it was much more embarrassing for you to be chasing her around, considering."
Luke scowled at him.
"Speaking of you and women," Han said, transitioning as he sat forward. He rested his elbows on his knees. "I made a friend a promise."
Luke looked apprehensive, as Han went on.
"You know Dansra Bezeer?"
"No," Luke said blankly.
Han rolled his eyes.
"Yes, you do – she was one of the pilots, Yellow Squadron. She's on the Council with Leia."
Luke blinked, and Han was briefly incredulous over how unobservant he could be socially despite his finely tuned Jedi senses. The kid suddenly tilted his head thoughtfully, and nodded.
"The blonde one."
"Yeah," Han agreed. "On our little rescue mission to save the Viceroy, she asked me to put in a word with you."
"A word?"
"A word of interest," Han insinuated.
"In the Jedi temple?"
"Luke," Han said, resisting the urge to smack him in the back of the head. "'M pretty sure she meant her interest in sleeping with you."
Luke raised his eyebrows.
"I don't even know her," he said, bemused.
"It's a compliment," Han assured him.
"But, wouldn't she want me to take her to dinner first?" Luke asked.
Han arched a brow at him.
"You want to talk her in to making you pay for dinner first?" he asked. He started to make a joke, and then shook his head. "You're a good kid, Luke."
Luke thought about it a moment.
"She's very attractive," he noted.
"Leia mentioned setting you up with Winter; so you have options," Han joked.
Luke folded his arms.
"Hey, Leia won't let them marry her off, so she's offering me?" he whined.
"Maybe she figures the galaxy's only Jedi Knight is a hefty alliance prize."
Luke scowled moodily.
"I think the original order required celibacy," he said.
"That'd explain why they died out," Han joked.
Luke sighed heavily.
"I've been discovering more about that, lately," he said gloomily. "I think they were purged. Murdered by the Emperor. I can't seem to find his origins – figure out if he was a Jedi who turned, like my father, or if he originated as a Sith. All I know is that he was from Naboo, and the Naboo consider him a stain that will plague them for the rest of eternity."
Han looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.
"Ask Chewie," he said suddenly.
Luke looked confused.
"Ask – Chewie?" he repeated.
Han nodded.
"His old man fought in the Clone Wars," Han offered. "Think I remember Kashyyyk being a prime battleground. The Old Republic had Jedi attached to all the Clone Units."
Luke stared at Han.
"How do you…?"
"'Cause Corellia was infested with Clones, when I was a kid," Han interrupted. "This punk I used to run around with said he saw a Jedi once, lightsaber and all." He shrugged.
"I…never thought to ask if you or Chewbacca remembered those days."
"Chewie will," Han said stubbornly. "I don't. Not the way you want me to. I just remember starving."
Luke looked intrigued, and Han waved his hand.
"Back to you having fun," he snorted, "and getting your head out of the Jedi Temple for half a parsec," he muttered.
"Han, I need to be as informed as I can be if I'm going to start a new Jedi Order – "
"That's great, kid, but first we've got to talk about the Alliance nurses."
Luke drew back warily.
"What?" he asked quietly, his eyes darting away as Han looked at him smugly.
"Seems that's why Dansra's interested," Han continued smoothly. "She heard a bunch of talk from a bunch of Alliance nurses – talk I never heard."
Luke had the good grace to look slightly sheepish.
"No need to be embarrassed, Luke," he teased wickedly. "I'm proud of you."
"Look," Luke began, attempting to look dignified. "I was young – and I didn't have any girlfriends on Tatooine – "
"I'm shocked," Han said bluntly.
"—and it went to my head a little, the Force, and making the Death Star kill shot, and you know, that was an inappropriate use of the Force anyway, I've matured – "
"Hang on," Han interrupted incredulously. "You were – what, manipulating women into bed with you? Entrancing them?"
Horrified, Luke shook his head.
"No, no!" he insisted, his face pale. "It wasn't like that, it wasn't – I was using it to…um," he paused, but he really hated the way Han was looking at him – Han, who he'd always considered more unscrupulous than himself, looked about ready to rip him to shreds, so he blurted out the rest – "um, enhance the experience, for them. Once they were already…with me."
Han stared at him silently for a good two minutes or so.
"That sounds like something out of a dirty holo," he said seriously.
"Okay, Han – "
"Straight off the Blue Net, Master Skywalker."
"Han, can you – "
"What a spectacular abuse of religious power."
Luke glared at him, turning a dark red. Han smirked back with obvious glee at the information.
"This information will definitely up your marketability in the marriage market," he went on. "I'll tell Leia to double any dowry she has in mind – "
"You're not going to tell Leia anything – "
"Are you kidding? I'm definitely telling Leia about," he broke off suddenly, tilting his head. "Hey, Leia's Force sensitive," he noted, switching gears. "Does that mean – "
"Please don't finish that sentence."
"—she can do stuff like that, too?"
Luke looked scandalized.
"I'm not having that conversation with her," he squeaked.
Han blinked at him.
"Even if I convince her to let you train her?"
"This conversation," Luke said, in a pained voice, "has gone completely out of my control."
Han smirked devilishly.
"So, who had the honor of initiating you?" he asked wickedly. "That little redhead flight tech? She was always battin' her lashes at you."
"Initiating...? Oh," Luke cottoned on, turning red again. He seemed to debate answering and then relented. "No, it was Yara Soarsyn."
He started to jog Han's memory by reminding him Yara had been the tactical analysis expert, but before he could, Han had already narrowed his eyes warily and said -
"You slept with Yara?"
Luke hesitated.
"Uh, yes," he said slowly, squinting at Han critically. "Why do I get the feeling you did, too?" he asked dryly, suspiciously noting Han's tone.
Han was silent for a moment, and Luke grimaced.
"Don't tell Leia about this," Han said finally - not because he thought Leia would care that he'd been with women before her but...she would probably find this disturbing.
"I don't know, sounds like Yara had a type - Death Star heroes," Luke said, deadpan. "Maybe she slept with Leia, too."
Han laughed loudly - if he didn't know Leia so well, he might have believed it; Yara had been a hell of an adventurous woman. Han leaned forward and punched Luke gently in the shoulder, a masculine show of friendship. He grinned smugly, and inclined his head, steering the conversation back to its original point with a final word about Dansra –
"You should see what Dan's like," he advised. "Who cares what the old Jedi used to do," he pointed out, with surprising sagacity, "since it obviously didn't work out for them."
"She is pretty," Luke said to himself.
Han nodded.
"Smart, too. And a pilot."
"You sound interested."
"Ha," Han snorted. "You're not chasin' me away from your sister that easy." He leaned forward. "You want to sit here and starve?"
Luke shook his head, rising. He mentioned something about raising Chewie on the comlink to invite him, too, and then turned, frowning at Han thoughtfully.
"Are you worried about what Bail's going to think of you?" he asked, surprisingly forward.
Han looked at him guardedly – he sensed Luke was equal parts worried about Leia's well-being and Han's ability to play nice in whatever situation cropped up. The latter issue would, of course, play its part in affecting Leia's well-being. So, Han looked at the kid without saying anything, his face unreadable – he was concerned about a lot of things, but what Bail Organa thought of him, specifically, as an individual, wasn't one of them.
"No," he answered flatly. "I'm worried about her."
What Bail thought of him with Leia, however, was an entirely different thing.
The greenhouses at the Alderaanian Embassy were home to the delicate remains of the planet's flora. What had once been a simple, decorative part of a diplomatic post was now a vitally important center of preservation. The place had been abandoned for so long after Leia had fled Coruscant, and after the destruction of Alderaan, that the greenhouses had been wild and overrun, but careful attention had been paid to restore them, and salvage what could be salvaged.
Until recently, Leia had spent very little time in them; she considered it overwhelmingly painful to be surrounded by such natural reminders of the planet, knowing that she was in an artificial bubble, which she'd have to step out of eventually. The garden, however, was her father's favorite place to retreat, and seated on a stone bench with him now, among a cluster of arallutes, Alderaan's very last, she marveled at how differently they had chosen to deal with the grief.
He wanted to be close to any reminder he could find; he wore his seal with diligence, he spoke only Alderaanian when it was reasonable, he meditated and reflected in these gardens while she – before she'd spoken it to Winter, she hadn't spoken her native tongue in five years, she had manically clung to some customs while erasing others, and she had avoided pain where she could, favoring numbness.
For this time with him, this brief, solitary time a few hours before his impending press conference, she'd let Rouge style her hair in a manner that Breha Organa had favored – proper, befitting an Alderaanian of age – and she'd rooted out something white from her closet.
Bail examined an arallute that lay in his lap, his expression troubled.
"You can't really think I'll be asked something like that," he remarked, looking up. His expression was pinched – Leia was seeing him once more, this time very much alone, to ensure he was as ready as he could be for the media onslaught.
"You will be," Leia said simply. "It's not likely it will come from an Alderaanian, but it's been asked before," she paused, "of me," she finished softly.
"And how do you answer?" Bail asked.
Leia looked at him wordlessly – how did she answer questions posed to her about guilt, questions that demanded she state whether or not she blamed herself, whether or not her vendetta against the Empire had constituted a war crime against her own people?
"I've been asked if I blame myself," she said quietly. "If I feel guilty." She paused. "Of course I do. But if it hadn't been Alderaan, it would have been another planet. And even if I'd revealed the location of every Rebel base past, present, and future – it still would have been Alderaan then, in that moment."
Bail nodded – that, he felt sure of.
"If they need to blame me to cope, I can take it," she mused, resigned.
"You shouldn't have to," Bail said.
"I was raised to be their leader one day," she said carefully. "You taught me a lot of valuable lessons about leading, but something I learned on my own – from the Alliance," she went on, "is that sometimes, people just need a scapegoat."
His lips turned up, but the smile was sad; a disheartening lesson to learn, to be sure – and one he wasn't so sure she would have learned on Alderaan. But domestic Alderaan had been an outlier among worlds; even unrest was civil and polite, fair and balanced. Acts of violence were rare, and shocking.
"You've become very wise," her father told her. "At a terrible cost, I'm afraid."
Leia chose not to remark on that too specifically.
"Wasn't I wise before?" she asked, arching one brow defiantly – challenging him like she used to. "Surely something got me elected to the Senate."
Bail laughed good-naturedly.
"Well, it was a different wisdom, wasn't it?" he asked wryly. "Youthful wisdom, perhaps."
"Naiveté, you mean," Leia supplied, her words dry. "I thought I could cleverly politic my way to justice."
"Any good warrior attempts to negotiate before striking," Bail recited – something akin to the philosophy he'd always raised her with. He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "A padawan I knew during the Clone Wars used to refer to battle as aggressive negotiations."
Leia laughed shortly. It sounded like something Han would say while mocking Luke's calm mediation or his insistent attempts to talk the light side into those who seemed long committed to the dark.
"Padawan," she murmured. "The term for Jedi apprentices, yes?" she clarified, remembering the word from her education.
Bail nodded, and she sighed.
"Luke can barely contain his curiosity, Father," Leia remarked. "He'll want to hear everything you know."
"I've told him I was no Jedi, I just had close friends – "
"It doesn't matter," Leia interrupted emphatically. "He's starved for information, any of it. He gets manic. He sometimes spends nights in the crypts of that old Jedi Temple. He didn't – actually, I don't think any of us realized the extent to which the Empire obliterated old records." She paused, feeling a weight on her shoulders, as she always did when she thought about how much had been lost to darkness. "Our only resources on some things are those who remember what it was like nearly thirty years ago."
Her words had a double meaning; she conveyed to her father in subtleties that she had questions for him too – that he owed her everything in his head. His brow furrowed deeply, almost sorrowfully, and he took her hand, squeezing it gently.
"Luke Skywalker," he began.
Leia removed her hand from his and held it up – not in a way that was threatening, per se, but it was firm.
"I don't want to discuss the Skywalkers right now," she said quietly, paying careful attention to his face as she used the plural – she was unsure if he knew she knew about Vader, because it wasn't in the files, and she hadn't brought it up.
She wondered if he automatically assumed that if she knew Luke was her brother, she must know about Darth Vader – but now was not the time. She wasn't ready – and she didn't know what, if anything, she wanted to know. She didn't know what questions she wanted to ask, or how to phrase them.
She compressed her lips, and gave him a small nod.
"There will be time," she assured him, almost tensely.
The expression on his face was sad, somewhat resigned.
"You've been avoiding me, Lelila," he remarked mildly.
It wasn't really an accusation, it was a fair observation, and she didn't trip over herself to correct him. He'd been back about two weeks now, and his prime contacts were Luke and Rieekan, though he and the others had been fairly isolated in general.
"It isn't so much avoidance," she said quietly. She swallowed hard. "The galaxy is very different than it was when your ship was lost," she went on, "and the introduction needed to be – gradual, to give some sort of hope for adjusting – "
"That was wise," Bail said grimly. "Even with slow, clear information it's – overwhelming," he said, but hesitated a moment. "But your reticence has been – disheartening," he chose his words carefully. "I don't mean to criticize; I simply mean that – after finding out you were alive, to rarely see you –"
"I am very different, Father," Leia interrupted simply. "There – believe me," she implored, "there is merit in my caution – it would be too, too," she fumbled for a way to articulate it. "It would be a double shock, to cope with the magnitude of the change in the galaxy, as well as a completely, drastically changed interpersonal relationship."
He looked at her thoughtfully for a long, silent moment. He wasn't sure what she was trying to say; he understood, objectively, that she'd experienced a lot, and matured a lot, since he'd last known her. He knew she'd been hurt, and hurt badly, but he couldn't see evidence of it in the way she handled herself, and handled her position. He had been - stunned to see the list of injuries and injustices she'd accrued on the Death Star. Broken ribs, nerve damage, burns, bruises. He was sick thinking about what else had happened that wasn't in that file, and yet she was nothing like the tortured prisoners he had worked with in the past, during his Clone War days.
Or perhaps she was just spectacularly good at hiding it.
"The only difference I see is how you look," he said gently, using the compliment as a peace offering. "We won't be at odds, Leia."
Her expression was unreadable.
"You haven't confronted being back in my life yet; knowing me as I am now," she said guardedly.
He looked troubled – did she think he would dislike her, suddenly? Everything he'd read, everything he'd heard, indicated she was a strong leader, that she'd been a linchpin of the Rebel Victory, that she was a valuable member of the New Republic. He sensed it was something intangible she referred to and Leia – for her part – didn't know how to put into words that she'd never be able to fit herself back into their old dynamic.
Losing her parents had caused her unimaginable grief, and since the loss she had coped, she had become someone, like all orphans, who lost all concept of what it was like to seek a parent's opinion even in adulthood. Most children with good parents looked up to them and sought their council even in the later years of life; but believing Bail dead, coupled with the intervening information about her true heritage and all the bad things that had happened to her since, had saddled her with an independence from her father that was so concrete that there were fleeting moments, even now, when she bristled at his affection like a teenager on the verge of adulthood.
She gave him a small smile.
"And how do I look?" she asked lightly. "You told Winter I looked like my mother. Has your memory faded that much?" Her words were sympathetic, nostalgic, and gently teasing – it was no insult to be compared to Breha Organa, she'd been a stunningly beautiful woman – but she'd been blissfully tall with olive skin and a sharp, angular face.
Winter was right; Leia had never looked a thing like Breha Organa.
Her father's face was heavy, wistful, and he cleared his throat at the comment.
"You do look like her," he said finally. "Very much so."
Leia looked down at her hands, silenced. Unable to process, at the moment, how close she was to the truth about her origins, she changed the subject.
"The media for the conference tonight has been very carefully selected – vetted impeccably," she said. "It's only the journalists with the most integrity for the most part. It will be grueling," she murmured, "answering – emotional questions, answering things you don't know yet – one that will pop up frequently is what your place is now, as you were a founding member of the Alliance."
Leia had strategically placed Threkin Horm in charge of vetting the press. She knew how outraged he was at the mere inkling of Han Solo, and how fanatical he seemed to be about preserving the kind but aloof dignity of Alderaan's royal family, thus she'd thought it best to charge him with stocking the press arena. He would ensure, for his own obsequious sake, that the press members he chose were those who turned up their nose at idle gossip in the face of a truly significant miracle.
"I'm prepared for this conference, Lelila," he assured her, caring and confident. He caught her eye.
She looked back at him, on the verge of asking him if he was prepared to really start living in this world, uncensored, unprotected, adrift in unfamiliarity. Small things he did set her on edge – not because she disliked them, but because they were incongruous to who she was now, and she knew his logical acceptance of change was likely to be vastly different from the emotional response.
She'd seen the look on his face when she walked into a meeting with him two days ago with her hair loose but for some thin, intricately decorated braids pulling it back from her face. Like any Organa, he was well-bred and well-trained enough not to remark, but she'd been abruptly reminded that while she thought nothing of it, his immediate reaction had been a response to what used to be tradition – and tradition on Alderaan would have held that an unmarried Princess wouldn't be caught dead with loose hair in official capacity.
Never mind the deep magenta tunic she'd been wearing.
Her manner of coping with the loss of Alderaan was so different from his, and it clashed with the identity crisis she'd been having since Luke's revelations. She couldn't explain why she divested herself of some traditions and clung to others. She stopped wearing white because it had indicated availability and adolescence, and she wasn't available or adolescent; but she'd kept her long hair, even if she chose to style it contrary to tradition. The more she saw him revere places like this garden they sat in; the more she saw that his focus would be careful attention to the preservation of their culture, the more she dreaded his reactions to what she'd eschewed.
She was trying to live in two worlds and figure out where she belonged between them both, and it would take him ages to understand that now, ages. Perhaps if he had been alive - around - for the crucial moments when she found out about Vader, things could have gone more smoothly.
"May I ask you something?" he inquired quietly, interrupting her reverie.
She nodded, inclining her head diplomatically.
"It's on behalf of Rouge."
Leia rolled her eyes and then caught herself, having the good grace to look a bit abashed. Her father smiled – almost smirked, and then hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"She would like to know if, ah, there's been a marriage arranged. She and – Celly, and Tia," he broke off hoarsely, at the reference to his other sisters. "Well, you remember how interested they were in those kinds of politics." He paused, his expression curious. "She's obnoxiously delighted you've taken more interest in clothes and make-up, but she's beside herself about the colours."
Leia swallowed hard - poor traditional, poor regal Rouge, focusing so intently on superficial things. Leia couldn't fault her for it at all - it must be, it had to be, her way of trying to grasp everything that had happened.
"No," Leia said simply. She decided there was no harm a sample of what was to come. "I've told Mon Mothma I am off the table."
Bail nodded his head, and she studied his face carefully – what was he thinking? He looked at her almost critically, intently, as if he could see through her. He had always seemed to take her side against her aunts in that regard, but back then she was sure he thought he had no need to worry, for the most part; she would choose wisely, and strategically. In fact, despite romantic fantasies when she was younger, she herself had always quite expected to end up with one of the young men from Alderaan's other ruling families - an Antilles, like Breha, or a Panteer; they were good men, and they were Alderaanians by blood.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him now - something in her gut gnawed at her, and coaxed her to just tell him now, get it over with, even if there wasn't much finesse in it; just let it simmer: That man who came to get you? That man you asked Luke about? He's mine. I love him. Please Father - but she couldn't unstick the words from her throat; she couldn't do it. Maybe Han was right; maybe she was reluctant to tell him. Here, now, she couldn't shake him up right before this press conference; she couldn't undo days and days of carefully controlled introduction to the new world by casually blurting out that she was sleeping with a smuggler.
She took a deep breath and reached for his hand again, locking her fingers into his. Bail leaned over and pressed his lips in a fatherly kiss to her forehead, and she closed her eyes a moment, taking a deep breath – the press conference seemed to be the thin wall that was preventing chaos from descending.
Leia felt strange about being absent from a defining media moment of the New Republic, but she also felt impossibly relieved. The utter depth with which her father was about to be questioned about Alderaan and all of his thoughts on it, and his thoughts on the present, daunted her.
Publicly, she kept her comments on Alderaan political or reverent, necessary and concise – it was, she knew, her greatest point of criticism, the reason malcontents and those who needed a scapegoat called her Ice Princess – but she couldn't help it; she could barely discuss Alderaan on a personal level with even Han.
Han was content to have her home; he favored anything that would keep the media from finding more ways to harass her.
"Who's that behind Winter, again?" Han asked, talking over Mon Mothma's even-tempered opening remarks. Han, being Han, had memorized almost no one's name among the list of people he'd rescued.
Leia tilted her head, running her fingers absently through Han's hair.
"Bastan Sadir," she murmured. "He was an intelligence officer."
"Hmm," Han grunted, half-interested. "Know him well?"
"He was always around," she answered neutrally. "But due to the nature of his job, he was mysterious. We called them Say-Nothings. Actually, he pinched me once."
"Pinched you?" Han bristled, shifting his head. He looked up at her – half an hour ago, after dinner, his head had taken up residence in her lap, while she sat curled near the armrest of the sofa.
Leia smiled, ruffling his hair.
"He thought I was being impertinent." She showed Han her wrist. "So, he pinched me."
"Ministers were allowed to just pinch the Princess?"
"Alderaan was very much an 'it takes a village to raise a child' society. Even royal children were expected to respect and defer to elders. I think I called him a name during a meeting, so he pinched my wrist, sharply . Well, I was outraged, being ten and very full of myself, however," she said, nodding at the holoscreen, "I got no sympathy from Father, who told me that if I'd ticked off Officer Sadir enough that I was pinched, I earned it."
Han still looked outraged. Leia smiled.
"If it makes you feel better, I heard that he privately got very, very angry with Bastan. Organas didn't physically punish their children."
Han mumbled something and looked back at the screen, leaving Leia to go back to running her fingers lazily through his hair.
"What should I think of your Aunt Rouge?" he asked.
Leia sighed, eyeing the woman on the screen – Rouge looked beautiful as ever, if nervous; she'd placed herself at Bail's right hand, opposite Winter.
"I couldn't say," she murmured. "Winter says she's changed immensely. When I last saw her, I was a constant disappointment to her." She paused. "Celly and Tia, too."
"Can't imagine you disappointing anyone," Han retorted.
"I disappointed them conventionally," she said quietly. "At sixteen I should have been presented to the Emperor with the other royal daughters in the galaxy, but I refused the presentation until I could have it as an elected official. Father supported me. But to the aunts," she trailed off, and smirked softly. "Very appalled that I was clearly more involved in Father's scheming than I was in the marriage market."
Han snorted, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. Mon Mothma was taking a step back, yielding her platform to Bail Organa, and he looked calm and collected, every bit the leader Leia had implied he was.
"I think I'll speak with him tomorrow," Leia murmured.
"Want me to be there?"
"No," she answered.
She didn't elaborate, but she feared her father saying something negative about the whole thing without thinking, and she didn't trust Han not to run his mouth right back – so it was a situation she didn't want to exacerbate right off the bat.
Han shifted to stretch out more comfortably, and pressed his lips to her knees, watching with satisfaction as little goosebumps appeared. She twitched her foot at him.
"Stop it," she ordered half-heartedly.
He rolled over and kissed her ribs instead, mischievously pushing up the hem of her shirt.
"Han, I'm trying to watch my father speak."
"He can't see me."
Leia rested her head on her arm, shaking her head good-naturedly. He pushed her blouse up further and she ignored him spectacularly, even when his tongue traced a suggestive line from the scar above her hip to her ribs. He nipped at her skin with his teeth, and at that, she pulled his hair sharply in reprimand.
"Bad Han," she said, scrunching up her nose. He pressed his forehead to her abdomen and she giggled, inching away from him. "Scoundrel," she hissed.
It didn't surprise her that Han was bored by the idea of watching the whole conference – too political – but she also sensed he was attempting to keep her relaxed; since leaving her father at the Embassy for his final preparations, she'd been so tense and anxious she'd barely spoken to him during dinner. She was even slightly grateful for the distraction – she felt jittery, so impossibly jittery.
Her eyes were fixed on his face as he began his opening remarks – concise, elegant, well-spoken as always, and for a moment she was hypnotized, like she was a child again, in awe watching him speak at formal functions. It wasn't long before the barrage of questions started, though the media did seem to exhibit a certain amount of respect, considering the subject matter.
His first question was about coping with the reality of the destruction; he handled it well – and follow up questions to that were predictable, painful, but phrased elegantly. Then came things she'd expected –
"Viceroy, you may know there are some factions that resent Princess Leia – even blame her – for the genocide. After all, her involvement with the Alliance spurred the Empire's decision – do you think any of the fault lies with her?"
Han twisted around, his expression dark.
Bail Organa looked troubled.
"Do I blame my daughter for the devastating actions of a bloodthirsty regime? Quite a question, quite a question – put simply, no, of course not, though if that's the line of thought some have, the blame should be placed at my feet, as I was an original founder of the Alliance to Restore the Republic."
"But," persisted the reporter, "some would say her lack of emotion concerning the Disaster is troubling – as if it were easy for her to sacrifice Alderaan for her political goals."
"Having spoken with Princess Leia numerous times since my return, I can tell you she has none of the attributes of a genocidal maniac, so I'd call that view of her a misconception at the least," Bail said calmly. He seemed to pause for a moment. "I'm beginning to understand very well what it must feel like to have the whole galaxy define what your reaction to such an unprecedented tragedy should be."
Han breathed out heavily and shook his head, relaxing slightly. He rested his head back on Leia's lap.
"He's good," he said bluntly.
"This is what he was raised for," Leia murmured, before pressing her lips together – the questioning moved on, devoting time to the Alderaanian Vengeance Brigade—and her father handled that well, too; he didn't pass judgment, he just spoke about the different manners of coping, urged temperance and inner peace; the usual sort of Alderaanian feel-good pacifism.
She'd forgotten how wise he was; on the screen before her now, he seemed to slowly creep back onto the pedestal he'd occupied when she was a child, the one she'd shoved him off of when she stood in Han's arms on Endor, grappling with Luke's genealogical revelation.
"…in considering my role in the galaxy now…must be understood that I hardly dared envision a world without the Empire, and now myself, and my fellows, are being abruptly thrust into it – my preliminary concerns of course are with the Alderaanian Diaspora," Bail was saying – naturally, addressing his new role.
"Finding it surprising to be outranked by your daughter, Viceroy?"
The question was lighthearted, and got a laugh. Han snorted. On screen, Bail smiled warmly.
"Daunting as it can be when the student surpasses the teacher, I always knew Princess Leia was destined for greater things than myself. She's a child of more than one world, and those individuals unite millions."
"Through marriage, perhaps?"
At that, Han made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat and turned back to stealthily inching Leia's shirt up higher, his attention back on kissing her ribs. Leia leaned forward, not as a reaction to his mouth, but because she sensed danger.
"I don't think I'd recommend myself well by barging back into her life and arranging her a marriage," Bail responded lightly. "I'm not sure it's wise to commodify the last Princess of Alderaan –"
Ten alarms went off in Leia's head – trap, her senses screamed. Trap!
A hand went up, a reporter interrupted.
"Then you do not have any qualms about Princess Leia's relationship with General Solo?"
Leia pressed her lips together hard, grabbing Han's shoulder in a tight panic. He turned, sitting up slowly, his expression grim suddenly. She tugged down her shirt and unfolded her legs, swinging them off the sofa and pressing her toes into the carpet.
She stared at her father's image, watched his expression go from confident and at ease to flummoxed, and he cocked his head to the side.
"Who?"
Leia guessed the question came out of a desire to buy time rather than genuine confusion.
"That would be Han Solo – he was commissioned recently, but he's primarily been a smuggler, tied most often to the Hutt crime lords," the reporter added.
Leia was unsure if the questions were meant to be demeaning and malicious, or if they were just there to elicit as salacious a clip as possible, but she felt like she couldn't breathe. Next to her, Han swore, fully focused on the screen, and she sensed him tense considerably.
Bail Organa raised his hand.
"I've been briefed well; I'm aware of who the man in question is – "
"And what's your opinion on his relationship with Princess Leia?"
Bail simply looked put out for a moment. He shook his head.
"The General?" he said. "I think you must be mistaken – ah," he faltered a moment. "He's considerably older than her – in any case, I doubt the broadcast audience is here to discuss rumors about Princess – "
"They aren't rumors, Viceroy," another reporter interrupted. There was some shuffling. "There's plenty of photographic evidence, and we have a clip of her public confirmation of the affair."
Sitting up straight, Leia's face turned white – that moment of abandon a month or so ago, at the gala – it was going to haunt her in ways she'd never imagined, now – and photos, what photos? She wracked her brains, trying to decide if there had every been any even slightly scandalous photos taken by the press of her and Han –
"Hate to break it to you, Sweetheart," Han said grimly, "but he doesn't look happy."
Leia swallowed hard, her eyes on her father again – he looked so gobsmacked, so completely unprepared, unequipped to proceed – she had only ever known him to be flustered so badly once before, and the circumstances had been different – wildly different, adorable even; it had been at her first public event, when she was three years old – they'd placed a ceremonial tiara on her, and she'd thrown it at him, smacking him in the nose in the middle of a speech.
Bail had been so startled by the unpredictability of a toddler that Breha had taken over the dedication ceremony.
Her ears were ringing while reporters suddenly switched gears entirely, harassing her father with questions – in the back, Rouge was speaking rapidly to Winter, taking her by the shoulders – and then Leia's voice was echoing through speakers, a grainy recording –
Not unless the Prince would be amenable to his wife having a lifelong affair with General Solo.
Leia winced, covering her mouth, and then in a flash, the holoreporters were able to project a photo of her and Han, defiantly placed in a split screen alongside her father –
"Hey," Han growled. "Where did they get that?"
Leia shook her head helplessly – she was only glad that it was nothing explicit. She recognized one of the balconies at the Alderaanian Embassy, but she couldn't recall when the photo had been taken. In the photo, she was leaning against the rails, and he was leaning next to her, his face pressed close to her ear, clearly whispering something, his arm wrapped intimately around her waist.
In the photo, she was laughing.
"Viceroy? Viceroy, were you not aware? Viceroy, do you think a smuggler is a suitable match? Viceroy, your opinion on the affair – "
The questions went on and on, and Leia wanted to cover her ears; she wanted to scream.
She vaguely heard her father finally break through the cacophony –
"I won't be remarking on things I know nothing about."
- and he sounded stiff and a little cold, and then Mon Mothma was taking over, kindly but forcefully trying to steer the dialogue back to politics.
"I guess we should have realized that might happen," Han said bitterly. "Vultures – "
"I did; we did control for that," Leia gasped, standing up. Her hands were shaking. "That's precisely why the specific reporters were so vetted – there was a specific order to keep the interviews – professional," she broke off, her heart racing.
Han looked frustrated – and he avoided looking at the screen, he avoided looking at the ambushed face of Bail Organa, peering out towards him with wary uncertainty.
"Well, who the hell was in charge of – "
Leia pushed her hand through her hair, her lips curling back in a snarl.
"Threkin Horm," she said hoarsely.
Han stood up, his hands curling into fists – that obsequious, arrogant –
"He – if anyone, I thought Horm would be desperate to prevent this, he's so," Leia broke off with another gasp – she'd been so sure Horm would make it his life's mission to conceal Han from Bail, since Horm thought it was so sordid and unsavory in the first place. She had clearly miscalculated; Horm had apparently gone the opposite route altogether: ambush Bail with the information to ensure it went as badly as possible.
Leia looked at the screen, and eerily, felt like her father was staring back at her, wounded, guarded, betrayed, demanding answers; she covered her face with her hands and tried to hold back tears – tears of panic, and of fury, fury at how relentless the galaxy's obsession with her happiness was.
She hadn't missed how they had made it seem like Han was as unsuitable as possible – bringing up the crime-ridden past, the Hutts, throwing his military title around like it was a sham.
She tried to turn away from the chaos happening on screen, and turned right into Han's chest, he'd walked up to catch her, and as he wrapped his arm around her, turned off the holo, leaving them in silence. He ran his hands over her back soothingly, trying not to think about the tone of dismissal Bail Organa had used so effortlessly –
I think you must be mistaken.
Han rested his chin on Leia's head; no mistake, Viceroy, he thought warily.
With the proverbial bomb dropped, the only thing left to worry about was the fallout – would Bail make an enemy or a friend out of Han Solo; would he make his daughter's already tumultuous life easier – or would he, as she feared, obliterate the equilibrium she'd found since the end of the war.
hoo boy, that was fun !
I think at least three people saw this coming. at least, on A03, three or so people mentioned the press conference in passing.
-Alexandra