Identity

by madame.alexandra

A distress signal reaches Coruscant after the Empire's demise, claiming to be the beacon of Bail Organa. What would the reappearance of Leia's adoptive father mean for her life in a post ROTJ context? What would he think of Han Solo, and what could he tell her about the dark shadow of her heritage? H/L; AU.

25. Twenty Four

a/n: More than halfway finished, y'all ...

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Twenty-Four

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Leia had spent the morning in grueling cease fire negotiations concerning the last truly fanged pocket of Imperial influence in the Western Reaches. Crix Madine had them almost on their knees, and as Ambassador at Large, Leia had stepped in to try and broker a treaty. The frustrating thing was, the Imperials seemed to think they should be granted total immunity if they surrendered – Leia was only willing to confer immunity on those Stormtroopers who were confirmed clones, and on soldiers with ranks lower than corporal.

She argued her position because clones had difficulty thinking beyond their conditioning and programming, and soldiers of extremely low rank were often conscripts, or fighting due to stressors applied to their families. Her father's lessons, and enlightened ideology, held that good military commanders always put their soldiers first – Imperial military ideology held that victory was paramount, period.

Thus, after a stall in her negotiations with the Moff commanding the remnants of a fleet, Leia authorized one of Madine's aides to leak a transcript of the conversation to the public, ensuring Imperial foot soldiers would hear of it – if their leader couldn't be persuaded by the peace offering New Republic, perhaps his men would mutiny when they heard he had rejected a pardon on their behalf.

They had to know – they had to – that the Empire was in ashes now, that the New Republic couldn't be dislodged by the disjointed and squabbling remnants of what was once a great, intimidating kingdom – and if they could choke out the remaining threats in the Reaches and the Outer Rim within the year, the Interim government could end, debates on a permanent, not just an emergency, constitution would begin, and victory would be not only solidified, but irreversible.

Considering the intense exertion of the morning, Leia chose to retreat to her office at the Alderaanian Embassy for the afternoon – an easy enough escape, as her main event after lunch had been a council meeting, at which Rouge's gala and Kell Tainer's possible re-settlement location were discussed.

Her father had left the meeting immediately for a conference with Mon Mothma, and Rouge was still downstairs – no doubt still talking Winter's ear off, while Winter pleasantly and indulgently listened, and assisted.

Leia left her office door partially open, in case she was needed, but she wasn't at her desk; she'd opened the doors to the balcony and taken up residence on the couch. In fact, she had laid down to read over the latest missive concerning the trade treaty between the Nemoidians and the Naboo – and had fallen asleep lightly.

Lightly enough to get rest, but not deeply enough to actually sleep and risk waking up indecorously where someone might see her.

Her eyes blinked up lazily when she heard a noise at the door – it sounded like a knock, then shuffling, and then –

"Princess?"

Rieekan's voice, uncertain.

She lifted her head a little and turned to look at him, her eyes appearing over the edge of the couch. He was peering around, consternated, and then he saw her, and took a step back.

"I thought you were in here," he stated, looking more confident. She sat up a little more, swinging her feet off the couch, and straightened her shoulders. "Forgive me – "

"The door was open, Carlist, it's alright," Leia said simply. "I heard you knock."

He still seemed mollified.

"Were you asleep?" he asked.

She smiled a little – he didn't sound accusatory; he didn't sound affronted that she'd do something so unprofessional, the shock in his voice was present because it seemed a very vulnerable thing to do, and he'd never quite confronted vulnerability in her, even if he knew it was there, just under the surface.

Leia put her hand on her shoulder, rubbing stiff muscles gently. She gestured to an armchair across from the sofa warmly.

"Not really," she said honestly. "Sit down."

He took her invitation, but as he was sitting – and leaning forward, and resting his military cover on a circular table in front of him – he cleared his throat.

"Don't let me interrupt if you're busy," he said.

"I'm hardly busy," she said smartly, "or I wouldn't have laid my head down."

He arched a brow at her, and corrected his comment:

"What I meant was, if you need a nap, feel free to kick me out," he said seriously. "I'll even guard the door."

Amused, she laughed a little, leaning back on the sofa. She adjusted one of the cushions and relaxed a little.

"I would think commandeering one of the highest ranking members of our military to make sure no one catches me sleeping is an abuse of power."

Rieekan inclined his head a little, smirking. She rested her hands in her lap, biting the inside of her lip a little to wake herself up. She hadn't intended to fall asleep, but she'd found that often, when she was having trouble sleeping at night, short, stolen naps recharged her without visiting nightmares on her. It was a convenient trick.

Leia sighed.

"What can I help you with?" she asked matter-of-factly. She tilted her head, her face unreadable. "Are you here to warn me you're deploying Han?" she asked grimly – it seemed like something Carlist would do; warn her first.

Rieekan shook his head.

"No," he said quickly. "Nothing of the sort – actually, I'm," he paused, seeming uncertain, "well, this is a personal visit."

"Oh," Leia said, mildly taken aback. She felt a flicker of worry for him – she wasn't in charge of the military, so there wasn't anything regarding that he'd come to her for, but if he needed something for the Alderaanians, or if something was wrong with him -

"I'm aware I may be overstepping my bounds," Rieekan said firmly, "but I thought I'd – I wanted to see how you're doing," he said.

Leia tilted her head at him, and swallowed hard. She sat forward for a moment, and then got up without a word and went to shut her office door, effectively signaling her unavailability for a while. She rested her hand on the door a moment, and then turned around and returned to her place. This time, when she sat down, she drew her legs up on the sofa with her, and leaned against the armrest with a much more at ease posture.

"Carlist, you know about Vader," she said simply. "There are very few bounds left for you to overstep."

He nodded shortly, and she found his open concern touching, and comforting.

"Well, then," he said gruffly. "How are you doing?" he asked.

She smiled.

"You're asking about Han, and Father?" she asked rhetorically. She shot him a wry glance. "If you should continue…intervening?"

Rieekan glanced down at his knees for a moment, and looked up, wincing.

"The Viceroy told you?" he asked grudgingly.

"Luke told me," Leia corrected. "He told me you had the same idea – quite covert," she said with mock solemnity.

Rieekan sighed, and shrugged. He sat back, stretching his hands out on the armrest.

"I figured it couldn't hurt," he said. "The last time I spoke to your father about Han, he wasn't that thrilled with it – and then there was that photo in the Cantina," he listed. He shook his head, and shrugged again.

"At the very least, Han was delighted," Leia said, propping her elbow on the armrest and resting her head in her palm. "He was behaving himself, though," she said honestly. "They both were."

"Are they still?" Rieekan ventured.

Leia sighed. She turned her face into her hand and rubbed her temples – yes, technically the answer was yes. In the several days Han had been back, there had been no dramatic confrontations, no shouting matches – there was only the absurd sort of tension that manifested when people were being entirely too cordial with each other.

Though in Bail's case it was cordial, and in Han's case it was either casually disappearing when Bail was around, or saying very little unless directly spoken to – and that was unnerving to Leia. She appreciated him not unleashing the full brunt of his overwhelming personality, but she didn't like him acting neutered, either.

She peeked at Carlist.

"It's very awkward," she confessed finally.

She turned her head, and rested it on her palm again, frowning thoughtfully. Han and her father were segregating themselves, perhaps purposely, perhaps unconsciously, so even though there was no outright battle going on, Leia still felt a sense of fear that her relationships with both of them would never be fully integrated into one life.

Rieekan tilted his head.

"Is there anything I can do?" he offered.

Leia arched a brow at him.

"Take them out for drinks and get them drunk together?" she suggested dryly.

Rieekan laughed, leaning forward. He placed his elbows on his knees and rubbed his jaw, palm running over the week-old beard on his chin he hadn't bothered to shave lately.

"Interesting strategy," he said seriously, feigning a strict military analysis, "could be problematic – speaking in relative terms, I am concerned the Viceroy might be unconscious by the time Solo is merely buzzed."

Leia snapped her fingers and pointed at Rieekan, accusatory.

"You've gone drinking with Han," she stated confidently, giving him a knowing look – Han had tried to tell her several times that Rieekan had his fair share of nights out while on liberty during the rebellion, but she flat out had not believed him – Carlist had always seemed too focused.

Rieekan gave her a poker face, and she narrowed her eyes.

"I take it he drank you under the table?" she asked dryly. She shook her head, a little amused, thinking of Han's rather frighteningly impressive ability to handle liquor. "You have a point – I can't even tell when Han's drunk, most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Rieekan quoted.

Leia considered him a moment, and then – she decided Han could use a little teasing, so –

"He's not good with wine," she revealed succinctly.

Rieekan looked ready to run out the door and immediately start berating Han for being a lightweight when it came to a brand of alcohol that generally came from distilled fruits, but he restrained himself, and just looked thoughtful.

"Then I'll ply the Viceroy with whiskey, and Han with wine."

Leia smiled demurely.

"Something tells me Father might hold his own better than you think," she murmured – Bail was certainly no prohibitionist when it came to alcohol, and though his position and his responsibilities had kept him from carousing the same way that Han had, Leia knew there had been a time in his life when alcohol had been much too close of a friend.

Her father, of course, had never mentioned that to her, but Aunt Celly had, when she caught Leia and Winter sneaking Arallute gin from the cellars and hysterically accused them of being out of control denizens on the primrose path to ruin.

Leia smiled to herself, and lowered her head for a moment.

"It's just an adjustment," she spoke up, spreading out her hand and examining it as she spoke. "Father is more understanding, but he doesn't understand Han," she murmured – and she didn't mean he didn't understand why Leia cared for Han, because she'd already gone over that.

Viceroy Organa point-blank did not understand Han's guarded, suspicious, and unforthcoming nature – he was, Leia sensed, baffled that Han didn't want to talk about himself, or talk about Leia, or give any insight into his personal life or his feelings.

"And Han?" Rieekan asked mildly.

Leia spread out her hands, exasperated, as if to say – you've met Han. She got the impression Han felt most of the problem was with his lowborn background, less than savory work history, and questionable relationship with the law, and he was never going to be able to erase any of that past or change his lack of aristocratic blood.

"They're just from different worlds," Leia muttered. She waved one hand lightly. "It'll take time, I suppose," she said. "One day perhaps they'll – I don't know. Watch sports together."

Rieekan gave her a bemused look, and she shrugged, flushing.

"I – well, whatever men do together," she said, compressing her lips flippantly – there was a huge difference between what a smuggler and a prince consort did in his free time, anyway. She brushed her lips with her fingers, and glanced towards the balcony. "Or, perhaps they won't," she said dully.

Rieekan cleared his throat, interlocking his fingers and looking down at them a moment.

"It's not altogether unnatural, you know," he offered sagely. She looked at him patiently, and he went on. "There's a whole new dimension of stuff going on here that's causing issues with the Viceroy and Han – and it's status issues, and old norms, as well as general – coping problems," he said, "but all that aside, he's your father, and Han's your," Rieekan broke off suddenly. "I'm – what do you call him?" he asked, suddenly confounded.

Leia tilted her head back to hide her grin – hadn't she asked herself the same thing, when talking to her father? Boyfriend, fiancé, lover – She tilted her head back and shrugged, giving Rieekan a demure look.

"I call him Han," she quipped.

"Right," muttered Rieekan, preemptively grimacing at the words about to come out of his mouth: "He's your…Han," he said, and Leia fought back laughter, "and this sort of…tension between a girl's father and her suitor is ancient. It's sort of a galaxy wide narrative."

Leia considered that – he had a point, certainly; Leia felt she had appropriately assuaged her father's pressing concerns, but that didn't erase the fact that she was Bail Organa's little girl, and she was all grown up, and he'd been there for none of it – he was just slapped in the face with it.

"Let me tell you," Rieekan said seriously, "when I was dating Morrie," he went on, referring to his late wife, "I couldn't do a damn thing to please her father, and I was a decorated Lieutenant in the Alderaanian Palace Guard," he revealed. To emphasize his point, he continued: "He once told me I was disrespecting her by bringing her flowers that weren't fresh enough."

Leia grinned, sitting forward a little.

"You married her," she said, "so, he must have come around."

"He did," Rieekan allowed, frowning, reflecting: "Still always called me Carly, though. Even after the boys were born. I think Whick thought that was my real name."

Whick had been Rieekan's youngest son, only seven when Alderaan was destroyed. Leia noticed the tired pain in his eyes when he spoke of his family, and she empathized with it – but now, she felt momentarily guilty, because some of hers was back, and his –

"How's your brother, Carlist?" she asked gently.

Rieekan's lips turned up grimly, and he shook his head.

"He's not good," he answered bluntly.

Leia nodded sadly.

"Neither is Rouge," she offered. "She wants to go home so badly," she sighed. "Every day it sinks in a little more that she can't, and I think that makes it worse, hour by hour."

Rieekan nodded.

"For Stavnist the survivor's guilt is hardest," he said gruffly. "Worse for them, I think, since they were all even closer to the – Disaster – than we were. Stav's husband was going to accompany the Viceroy, but Stav asked him to stay, thought the mission was too dangerous for both," Rieekan said heavily. "Now he's beating himself up for that."

Leia leaned back tiredly – there were so many different kinds of suffering that came from it all, and each person seemed to latch on to a different kind.

"Will he be able to survive?" Leia asked Carlist quietly.

"Hard to tell," the general answered – to date, they hadn't lost a single one of the flagship Alderaanians to suicide, but it hadn't been that long.

"He's getting adequate help?"

Rieekan shrugged gloomily.

"It's hard to get him to consistently go to therapy," he muttered.

Leia ran a hand over her face.

"It's difficult to know how to support them," she said edgily. "I can't even describe how I was able to keep going." She looked at him intently. "How did we go on, Carlist? Do you remember?"

"No," he said. "I don't understand it. The war, maybe," he said heavily. "There was the war – now there's building this. There was revenge. We found new places."

"And they only have their old lives," Leia murmured.

He nodded tightly – it was a blur, coping with the loss of an entire world. He watched Leia bow her head, thinking about it, and wondered if she knew that for a lot of people, she had been the reason they went on. They saw her still standing, still fighting, still leading, and they clung to that beacon of hope – if she can do it, we can.

Leia sensed him staring at her intently and smiled a little, questioning it – but he said nothing else, so she looked over to the window again – the Embassy was in a much more secluded area of Coruscant, as far as secluded could be on the city planet. There was less traffic outside, more nature – artificial though it was.

"As it stands," she said, sighing matter-of-factly, "they're sitting down to dinner tonight."

"Han and your father," Rieekan clarified.

Leia nodded, and slowly turned her head back to him.

"Han, Father," she narrowed her eyes warily, "Rouge, Winter," she listed. "Chewbacca."

"I guess the Life Debt might come in handy, with a gathering like that," Rieekan snorted.

Leia smiled wryly.

"Chewie offered to cook," she revealed. "For which I'm grateful – Han's a good cook, but Chewie," she raised her eyes heavenward, as if thanking the Gods.

"Luke?" Rieekan asked, tilting his head.

Leia shook her head.

"I invited him, but he's on duty," she paused. "I thought it should be only Han and Father, but Luke mentioned that Aunt Rouge isn't being exposed to him enough, and that's a problem," she murmured, "and then Winter – well, we'll see," Leia said, rubbing her forehead again. "We'll see how it goes."

She resisted an urge to yawn, and held it back successfully – there could be chaos this evening, or more of that stiff, clinical politesse and awkwardness. She couldn't really decide if the stiffness was a safe place to be right now, or if she'd prefer Han and her father, while keeping general respect in mind, would act more like themselves and sort of – bristle at each other.

After all, even down the road, if they grew to like each other immensely, they wouldn't get along all the time.

Leia didn't even get along with Han all the time.

Rieekan sat back a little, looking at her thoughtfully.

"Princess, I think his main concern – what he conveyed to me – was a perception that Han was – or – is a predator – "

"I've spoken to him about that," Leia said, a little sharply. "He understands – he at least said he understands – that Han's not that kind of threat. He knows I wasn't taken in with tricks or manipulation."

"I'm sure it sounded much more convincing coming from you than me," Rieekan said, relieved to hear it – his own opinions on that front had seemed to go only partly into Bail's head, back before Han left, and things were so, so messy. "Then, Your Highness, I think the final hurdle is just him getting used to Han in general."

Leia looked at him blankly for a moment, and then she shook her head.

"No, that's just going to occur gradually," she said flatly. "The final hurdle is that my father will want to hear Han talk about me like I talked about him."

Rieekan hesitated at the look on her face.

"I take it you don't think Solo's going to pour his heart out."

"There's no chance in hell," Leia said.

She didn't necessarily mind, either – Han had extreme difficulty with emotional vulnerability, which was something she understood and related to. The way he was with her was entirely different from the way he was with other people which was why he got such a reputation as a loose cannon womanizer with little regard for manners, the rule of law, and morality in general.

Of course- - Han did have little regard for manners and the rule of law, but he had a strong Corellian code that was symbolized by his two sets of bloodstripes, and she'd never actually seen him treat a woman disrespectfully.

Although on some more puritanical planets, what he did to her in bed last night was considered disrespectful.

Rieekan took a deep breath, oblivious to the path her thoughts had taken.

"Actions speak louder than words, Princess," he said. "Han's speak pretty loudly, even when he sticks his foot in his mouth."

Leia smiled a little.

"Here's to hoping," she said, feigning lifting a glass. "You see, if my father ends up accepting Han and giving him his full blessing, Dodonna might calm himself down," she finished, somewhat caustically.

Rieekan laughed heartily, shaking his head at the thought of the scandalized old general.

"Mon Mothma, too," he offered.

Leia shrugged – she felt she'd made her peace with Mon Mothma on the subject. Even if the Chief of State was not wholly convinced Han was a good match, she'd heard Leia's argument, and she hadn't written it off, and that was enough for Leia to put aside any catty feelings she had towards the older woman.

Regardless, with Bail Organa actually alive and speaking for himself now, none of the former Alliance high command would feel the need to look after her and comment on her love life as if they were channeling her father's wishes.

Rieekan beamed, and sat forward.

"There was one other thing, and it's strange that I started hearing whispers about it as Rouge is getting more organized about this gala," he began.

Leia looked weary immediately at the mention of it.

"It's not going to be a single gala – despite the paltry amount of Alderaanian refugees in the galaxy, we can't host them all at once," she said.

The celebration was shaping up to be more like a week-long festival – much needed, probably, and a genuine, fierce celebration of Alderaanians and their lost culture, but it meant a lot of very ceremonial work for Leia, and she was, she realized with some consternation, rather out of practice in that respect.

"The award ceremony is going to be on the final night," Rieekan said, a little smugly.

Leia rolled her eyes.

"I saw the final list, Princess," he said, verging on teasing her. "I heard the Viceroy specifically overruled the decree we gave about not giving Han awards."

"To be fair," Leia said diplomatically, "he did volunteer to go, and he and his crew do deserve awards – as do Luke, and Dodonna, and Dodonna's commanding officers." She paused, and then went on frankly, and indelicately: "but it almost feels like Father is promoting Han to prove how generous he can be. It seems like a power play. Or ass-kissing," she said bluntly.

"He's being conciliatory," Rieekan said mildly.

Leia smiled wryly – she still felt a little like her father's insistence on a grand award ceremony for the cohort that had rescued him was specifically to exhibit a sense of – look, Leia, look how accommodating I'm being – and she wished he would focus that energy more internally. She was even slightly wary Han might think it was condescending – but the gala was not imminent, and perhaps by the time it was upon them, the rough edges around everything would be smoother.

"What was it you were hearing whispers about?" Leia asked, steering them away from more talk about Han, more talk about her father.

"Ah," Rieekan said, his expression brightening. "I spend a lot of my off-duty time collecting our artifacts and goods, if I can find them," he said.

Leia nodded – it wasn't an uncommon practice for many Alderaanians.

"It seems I may have discovered someone who knows where the crown jewels ended up," he revealed proudly.

Leia pursed her lips, taken aback. She tilted her head, leaning forward a bit.

"They were obliterated, Carlist," she said. "They were in Aldera."

"Not all of them," he corrected. "There were plenty kept here, at the Embassy, for state events – stolen when it was ransacked after your capture, sold and distributed by the Empire."

Leia fell silent, looking at him curiously.

"There were several sets of necklaces and earrings at this residence," Rieekan continued. "And I know for a fact that Queen Breha's coronation circlet was here, because you wore it during your Senate confirmation."

Leia's eyes widened slightly, the memory striking her clearly – it wasn't the crown they'd placed on her mother's head, because that was absolutely kept in the vaults at the Palace of Antibes, but her circlet, the white-gold, delicate thing with fragile diamonds and pearls laced through it – it had been passed through the Antilles family for centuries.

Rieekan grinned at the look on her face.

"There are quite a few Organa pieces, as well," he said. "I've been tracking them – and many of them, I think we can get back."

She was speechless for a moment, and then she put her hand to her mouth, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Carlist," she said softly, "I never thought – you just assume that everything is gone," she noted. "The planet is gone, and that's such a monumental hit…you just automatically assume everything is gone. Every time I get a glimpse of something real – or I hold an Arallute in my hand, or see an artifact that someone has salvaged off-world – it's haunting."

She swallowed hard.

"I always considered the jewels a hassle. When I had to wear them, or display them, but now," she paused, hoping desperately that she didn't sound vain. "I want anything that I can have back."

Rieekan nodded, understanding completely.

"I can't use the military for expeditions like this, so I was going to reach out to Han and ask him if he can put me in touch with any of his more trustworthy smuggle contacts," he said.

"None of them are trustworthy," Leia said with a laugh, "but their moral code solidifies as payment increases," she noted wryly.

Rieekan beamed at her again – he'd been sure she'd be heartened to know there were things still to be salvaged, even amidst everything that would never exist again.

"I thought," Rieekan said, "that if we could reclaim the jewels – at least some of them – by the gala, it could be another statement of hope. Of…not giving up."

Leia nodded, sitting forward and clasping her hands together.

"You can't imagine what it would mean to Father to have something of my mother's in his hands again," she said softly.

Rieekan reached out to put one of his hands over hers, meeting her gaze seriously.

"Yes, I can," he assured her – and she smiled shakily, feeling foolish or a moment; of course he could understand. He, because he was Alderaanian, could understand so completely, that she opened her mouth to take back her words, and he waved his hand, nodding with understanding.

The general stood up, sweeping his cover off the table.

"I'll keep you in the loop on the artifacts," he said, tucking the cover under his arm. He paused, and then smiled wryly. "Best of luck with dinner tonight."

She smiled faintly, and shot him a look, nodding her head towards the door with a mock glare on her face, as if she were kicking him out. He gave a small salute, and strolled over, opening the office door, and exiting – for a moment, and then he poked his head back in.

"Would you like me to shut this, Princess?" he asked seriously. "You could get back to that pressing nap you were taking."

Leia gave him a mildly startled look, because despite how familiar he'd just been, she was caught off guard that Carlist had relinquished enough ceremony to tease her like that – but she was hardly offended; she just raised a brow, and waved her hand regally – and on her cue, he did shut the door, leaving her alone in the office.

She watched the door for a moment, and then turned her head, grinning. She was no longer in the right frame of mind for a nap, and as she reflected on Rieekan's concern, and their easy rapport, she was struck with a throb of guilt over it.

She realized – she was as at ease with Carlist as she used to be with her father. For a moment, she felt like she was betraying Bail, and the dichotomy between the then and the now was illustrated starkly – it didn't matter that she'd taken strides forward with her father, and communication channels were open, she was still not fully at ease with him.

And – it had everything to do with the fact that no matter what happened, and no matter how they healed, Viceroy Organa was simply never going to have the shared experience of the past five years that was necessary to relate to her.

It didn't mean she would never be comfortable with him, it just meant there was a small part of their bond that would be forever fractured.

---

Unless something unexpected came up, Han was consistently off duty before Leia had a chance to think about ending her day, though usually he spent those few hours winding down on the Falcon or roaming around with Luke and other off-duty members of the Rogue Squadron.

This particular day, however, he'd only spent a marginal amount of time on the Falcon before dragging himself up to the apartment to generally get things in order, as her father was joining them for dinner. Chewbacca was cooking, but Han had been charged with making the place look presentable – though he wasn't really sure what Leia meant by that, as the apartment was pretty damn clean already.

Han decided to interpret it as her ordering to make himself presentable, so he opted for a shower to wash off the day's grit and engine grease, and when he was dressed, Chewbacca retreated to clean up as well, leaving Han to supervise the cooking. As far as supervision went though – it was just a matter of keeping an eye on timers, at this point. The Wookiee had invested himself in dinner with a fervor that Leia would probably appreciate but Han was diplomatically referring to as going overboard and privately thinking might be bordering on ass-kissing, but when he mentioned it, his co-pilot growled at him that ass-kissing was exactly what he should be doing.

Han scowled, shrugged, and grudgingly considered that was probably true, and he occupied himself wondering if Leia was going to change clothes when she got home or wear what she had on at work – at least he occupied himself with that until the door chimes rang, and he found himself shooting a narrow look at the kitchen chronometer.

It was certainly late enough for Leia to be home, though she wouldn't ring the door chimes.

He peered out of the kitchen down the hall, and then set his jaw as he went to get the door, unlocking it with a swipe of his palm and authorizing it to slide open.

He was unsurprised to find the Viceroy waiting there. He was early, and Han was well aware he was likely early on purpose. Han smiled a little tightly – Leia wouldn't be thrilled, predominately because she hadn't let them be alone together yet.

Han stepped back, and gestured for Bail Organa to enter, leaving the apartment door unlocked.

"Good evening, General Solo," Bail began pleasantly – he seemed unable to refer to Han as anything else, despite being asked to more than once.

Han figured it had more to do with his aristocratic breeding than any intention to be deliberately antagonizing, but it still nettled him.

"Evenin'," Han retorted, less refined, gruff.

Bail smiled.

"Is my daughter here?" he asked conversationally.

Han arched a brow.

"No," he said bluntly, his tone implying he was suspicious Bail already knew he would have beat her here – and he wasn't necessarily angry about it, he just didn't think Leia would like it.

"Ah," Bail said. "Well, I suppose it's just the two of us until she arrives."

Han gave him a calculating look.

"Want a drink?" he offered neutrally.

Without waiting for an answer, he beckoned, and the Viceroy followed him into the kitchen, watching Han rummage for glasses.

"Chewie's here," Han offered mildly, tilting his head towards the hall. "'Fresher – you've got him to thank for dinner."

"Leia did mention that," Bail said. He shook his head when Han held up a wine glass, and then nodded when Han held up a glass that was clearly for something stronger. "I get the impression he's quite the talented cook."

"Yeah," Han confirmed shortly. "That's an understatement."

Without asking, he poured whiskey for Leia's father, and slid it to him, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. Bail took the glass, and gave him a mildly curious look, noting he hadn't poured one from himself.

"You needn't abstain around me," he said. "There are no prohibitionists in House Organa."

Han arched an eyebrow.

"Your sister seems like the type," he said, and then paused, because he figured – after the fact – that it might have been an insulting comment. If it was, however, Bail gave no indication; he simple laughed a little grimly, and raised his glass.

"Yes, well," he said, clearing his throat pointedly. "She was young once, as we all were."

He took a drink of the whiskey while Han wondered if that was a subtle dig at how much older he was than Leia – he didn't respond to it, though, because he was still gauging the Viceroy's mood and intentions. He'd clearly intended to catch Han alone, but for what reason, Han wasn't sure – there wasn't time before dinner to get into anything, and Han was determined to try and avoid any conversation that might damage this evening – Leia didn't need to come home to that.

Han arched an eyebrow.

"You're early, Viceroy," he pointed out flatly.

"Bail," the Viceroy returned.

Han nodded, but as Bail kept using the title General when he was asked not to, Han felt it was only fair that he continue to refrain from familiarity as well.

Bail Organa smiled a bit wryly.

"What's the game?" Han asked, his expression alert.

"No game," Bail answered simply. "I am merely making an effort."

Han shook his head.

"She won't like it," he said bluntly. "She's strategizing – you're interfering," he pointed out. It was good-natured, but he meant it; Leia clearly wanted this done a certain way.

"Well, my daughter may be in charge of your life, General, but she's far from in charge of mine," Bail quipped, his expression amused. "She didn't like it the last time I spoke with you alone, either – "

"I don't remember that turnin' out so well," Han pointed out warily.

"Our initial conversation was perfectly civil," Bail said, his voice a bit clipped. "It was later that things were…unpleasant."

Han raised his eyebrows at the mild choice of words, but said nothing right away. In his silence, Bail cleared his throat again, and set his glass down, looking at Han intently.

"As it were, General Solo – "

He was cut off by the musical notes of the door again, and Han lifted his head warily – it had to be –

"Pasha," Winter, not Leia's, voice rang through the apartment – and she said nothing else until she stood in the kitchen doorway, her head tilted, her expression a little triumphant, a little sly. "Pasha," she said again, her tone sounding remarkably like a chastising click of the tongue. "You old sneak."

Bail shot Winter a withering glance, and she strolled into the room, smiling brightly at Han.

"I hope he hasn't gotten underfoot, Han," she said, sighing dramatically. "He escaped from me."

She was being dramatic, but Han flashed a small smirk at her all the same. Bail continued to give Winter a mildly annoyed look, and she slipped her arm through his.

"You shouldn't wander about into people's houses prior to the fixed time," she said seriously, looking up at him.

Bail looked at her hand on his arm pointedly, and then lifted his chin, glaring at her.

"Stop speaking to me as if I am senile," he ordered.

"I wouldn't have to if I wasn't so concerned about your memory," Winter shot back glibly. "We were told half-past twenty."

"I see you arrived early as well," Bail retorted.

Winter tilted her head and then shot a wink at Han.

"Only to rescue Han from," she paused and, releasing Bail's arm, gave him a sharp look, "whatever you came here to do to him."

Bail held out his hand, non-threatening, at Han, his expression open.

"I'm merely engaging in cordial small talk," he defended.

Winter folded her arms, and looked to Han, one light brow raised expectantly. Han was silent just long enough to make it slightly uncomfortable, and then he smirked, and nodded at Winter, waving his hand casually at Leia's father.

"He wasn't doing anything," he confirmed honestly.

Winter, however, put his thoughts into words:

"Only because I arrived to interrupt, I'm sure," she said wryly, and reached out to squeeze Bail's shoulder. She rose up a little to match his height and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, which Bail accepted with an unreadable look that implied he had, in fact, been thwarted in something.

Han was willing to bet it had been nothing more sinister than his original visit to Han at the Falcon weeks ago, but he couldn't be sure – and he wasn't about to probe for information, either.

Bail gave Winter another dignified sort of scowl, and she smirked, moving around in the kitchen, her eyes alighting on appliances, and cabinets, and –

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked Han kindly, her presence instantly easing some of the natural tension that existed between Han and Bail. She gave Han a look through her lashes that reminded him of Leia, and then said, with feigned innocence: "Will you be wearing your crown to dinner this evening?"

The smirk Han gave her had a warning edge to it, and she winked at him again, shaking her head – she wanted him to know that incident was not something that was going to hang over his head, and she informed him of that by making jokes in front of Bail – and laughing at the expression on his face.

"I'll set your table," Winter said warmly, reaching for a kitchen cabinet. "What wine is Leia serving?"

Han turned and ran his hand over the rack intently, frowning as he tried to remember what she'd said – white, white – no, red, but in a white bottle. He pulled the correct selection from its place and passed it to Winter, opening a drawer and passing her a corkscrew for good measure.

"Oh, she's got such good taste," Winter sighed, eyeing the bottle. She showed it to Bail. "Rouge will appreciate this."

Bail made a noise of approval, nodding his head – it was nothing particularly rare and unobtainable, just a well-respected burgundy wine that was upper echelon as far as wines went. Winter, every move as poised and elegant as Leia's, glided into the dining room with her hands full, and Bail cleared his throat pointedly, his face guarded.

"I did not arrive here early to back you into a corner and ambush you," he said, rectifying anything she might have implied. "I wanted to set a precedent."

Han arched a brow, and took the bait.

"Yeah?" he grunted. "What's the precedent?"

Bail blinked at him, still fairly unused to the rough, blunt language that was second-nature to Han Solo – and he looked at the man intently for a moment, deciding how to phrase it.

"That I have no qualms about being alone with you," Bail said.

"I'm flattered," Han retorted.

Bail blinked at him for a moment and Winter, returning for more plates, laughed smugly.

"Pasha you're – coming off as unintentionally romantic, perhaps choose your words differently," she advised, to the Viceroy's complete chagrin – he was annoyed enough for his ears to turn red, which Han thought was an interesting and very ignoble characteristic.

"Winter, were you not taught to speak only when you have something sage to say?" Bail demanded, annoyance slipping into his tone.

Winter sighed, shrugging as she disappeared.

"I'm fairly sure you taught Leia not to run off with criminals, but here we are," she responded, her voice echoing musically from the dining room.

Han grinned, but caught sight of the vastly annoyed look on Bail's face, and hastily wiped the smile off of his face – only because he wasn't quite sure if Bail was irritated with Winter, or irritated at the reminder of Han's persistently sketchy past.

He leaned forward a little, his voice low.

"She didn't run off with me," he advised, mustering a solemn expression. "I dragged her kicking and screaming, but she came around."

Bail blinked at him, either startled by the joke, or startled by Han's deadpan delivery of it – either way, it took him a moment to recover, and then he narrowed his eyes, a line in his jaw tightening.

"Leia's assured me you did nothing of the sort," he said tensely, as if he was suddenly expecting Han to confess to having hypnotized, drugged, swindled, and exploited his daughter.

"Good," Han said, a little more aggressively than intended, giving the Viceroy a pointed look – because he really had done nothing of the sort, and it was a damn blessing to know that not only had Leia driven that point home, Bail had accepted it.

"General Solo," Bail began firmly, "I came here with the intention of speaking to you without having to speak around Leia."

"Why?" Han asked, immediately wary. "What don't you want her to hear?"

"It's nothing like that," Bail returned, an edge creeping into his tone. "I intended to make an effort in showing that I am capable of," he broke off, unsure how to put it – what he wanted was to make it clear that he was not being open-minded, and putting in an effort, only in front of Leia and only when Leia was present to mediate. He was doing so, in a broader sense, because Leia's happiness depended on it, and in order for Leia to be at peace about this in general, he and Han both needed to be able to cultivate their own relationship outside of her.

Difficult as that may be.

Bail sighed tensely.

"Leia asked me to give you a chance," he said curtly. "I have assured her that I understand this is not a mere matter of giving you a chance, but of accepting that you are…irreversible," he chose his words thoughtfully, "permanent, for the foreseeable future."

Han looked at him cautiously, but critically, and the Viceroy spread his hands out.

"I've told you once already that I had no intention of paying you off or destroying my daughter's happiness," he said with finality, "and Leia…well, it seems that you make her happy."

Han was still considering Bail intently when Winter interrupted with a sigh, slipping past Bail to steal his glass of whiskey and hold it to her lips. She inhaled, and flicked him a glance.

"That was lovely, Pasha," she crooned.

His jaw twitched, and the shot her a look out of the corner of his eye.

"There is no need for babysitting, Winter."

She pursed her lips, and then there was a short exchange in Alderaanian which ended with Winter laughing, and leaning against the opposite counter, watching Han and Bail. She was here for Leia's sake, more than anything else, and because there was so much weight attached to dinner tonight – as there were so many people – she intended to prevent anything too heavy from happening.

She was just glad she'd heard Bail covertly leaving the Embassy much earlier than he should have been.

Han figured Bail was likely expecting him to say something grand and admirable, but he wasn't the effusive type, and he wasn't about to get into anything deep in the middle of the kitchen with a Wookiee in the 'fresher down the hall and a blonde-haired, bright-eyed audience.

So all he said was:

"I make Leia very happy."

Bail blinked at him suspiciously, and then gave him a very stern look that made have made a lesser man offering a stuttering apology. As the look had no such effect on Han, Bail threw a nasty glance at Winter, and she shrugged with nonchalance, holding her hand out flippantly.

"Well, I don't think he's lying," she said breezily, unconcerned with any possible innuendo, and pushing off the counter to poke around to kitchen curiously.

She still nursed the whiskey Han had originally given to Bail, and Leia's father reached up to rub his temple, his jaw set as he silently forced himself to adjust to this dynamic – Winter driving him crazy was absolutely nothing new, but a tall, smug, and scruffy suitor of his teenaged – no, not teenaged – daughter was.

Winter strolled out of the kitchen for a moment, and Han heard her greet Chewie – the Wookiee responded with a pleasant, soft roar, and must have paused to speak with her, because Winter did not immediately return.

"Can she understand him?" Han asked, jerking his head in their general direction.

"Minimally," Bail said. "She's been listening to tapes," he volunteered, "as Leia told her Chewie was important."

Han smiled, and nodded to himself, pleased to hear Leia had said something like that – though he didn't doubt how much she valued Chewbacca.

Bail frowned, looking down at his hands for a moment, and then glanced off towards the front of the apartment, as if he were checking for Leia – even though his vantage point offered no view of the front door. He seemed torn between keeping conversations light, and probing a serious question – what Bail wanted to know was if Han was really as able to handle those nightmares, one of which Bail had unfortunately been present for, as Leia said he was.

Bail was simply so – worried about her, and he'd been worried enough before he was present for that, and he'd like to know if she was getting sleep, and he'd like to hear Han say all sorts of wonderful things about her, so he would know Leia's emotional investment in this man was returned at least ten-fold, if not more.

Han arched a brow at Bail's silence, and then turned to check something simmering on the stove, glancing in without much care, dropping the top of the pot down louder than necessary – he reached up and rubbed his jaw, and then turned back to the Viceroy, his arms folded.

"We're not going to have any more problems as long as you understand that I'm not bad for her," he said tersely. "Even if you don't understand somethin' about her, or somethin' she does not – I'm not the bad. I'm the good."

"Setting aside the fact that I still don't know you, personally, very well," Bail said, his tone just as clipped, "I believe that." He hesitated. "Leia has been abundantly clear with me about her feelings for you," he said, eyes intent on Han's face, "and I certainly hope you know the depth of those feelings."

The unspoken threat was fairly clear – I cannot be held responsible for my actions if you let my daughter get hurt because you aren't as invested.

Han turned to the side, picking up a dish towel out of the sink and folding it without thinking. He smoothed the edge, and then flung it over the faucet, negating his work.

"I know how she feels," he muttered, almost to himself – he didn't need Bail to tell him, either. He'd spent years coaxing it out of her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bail nod, and after a moment, the Viceroy sighed.

"It's unlikely we'll have no more problems," he said, though his tone was light. "After all, you did teach my daughter to play that filthy card game."

Han was still looking at the sink, though after a moment, the words registered and his brow furrowed. He blinked, looking up and over.

"What?" he asked.

Bail gave him a stern look, and gestured vaguely with his hands.

"That infernal – gambling," he said. "Sabacc," he stated. "You taught her to play Sabacc," he accused.

Han looked at him blankly – he understood that Bail was being facetious, and certainly joking, but it wasn't really hitting the mark because –

"Leia won't play Sabacc," he said, snorting a little. "She has a whole little speech on what a 'needless risk' it is," he quoted, his voice going up a little mockingly at one point. He grinned. "I offered to teach her once," he noted, "she threw the cards at me. Still missing one."

Bail, however, did not seem to find this amusing or comforting, he was just staring at Han in consternation. Han arched an eyebrow at him, figuring he'd be glad that apparently, the extent of Leia's gambling consisted of putting her life on the line for various political causes.

"She – doesn't play?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"No," Han said slowly, looking at Bail warily. He tilted his head. "You just assume I corrupted her with all my bad habits?" he goaded. "She's got pretty firm convictions. Figure it'll take me a few more years before I get her gambling."

"She told me she played Sabacc with you," Bail said, ignoring the jibe. He lifted his chin. "She said that is how you passed the time to Bespin."

Han started to laugh, and then remembered who he was talking to, and paused, pointedly looking away. He frowned, but only because he was trying so hard not to start smirking – Leia, you little liar –

"Hmm," Han grunted, non-committal. "That's not how I remember it."

"What do you – " started Bail, and then he stopped talking, sighed, and reached out for his glass of whiskey – as Winter had stolen it, he came up empty-handed, and a gloomy expression clouded his features. "Never mind," he said, a forlorn edge to his voice. "She was clearly attempting to spare me."

Han held up his hands.

"I didn't turn her into a liar," he defended.

"Lies such as those are necessary for a father's ears," Bail grumbled, all the while telling himself – she was an adult, she's an adult now, she's in charge of her own choices – and then, rather predictably, he could hear his late wife's voice in his ears – don't be such a prude, B.

Han did grin, at that, shaking his head – he'd relish seeing the look on Leia's face when he told her about this little exchange. It served her right – she knew as well as anyone that when crafting a lie, the other people involved in the lie had to know the specifics.

Turning to flip off a switch when he heard an alarm go off, Han swiped another glass for Bail and smacked it on the counter, pouring them both a measure of whiskey. He picked it up and offered a toast, no strings attached, his expression wry.

"You'll get used to me, Viceroy," he said.

Bail lifted his glass in tandem with Han as Winter and Chewbacca entered the kitchen, making it instantly more crowded.

"Leia will be pleased to know there's no blood being drawn," Winter said mildly, retuning her glass to the counter. "Taking shots together, however," Winter sucked in her breath thoughtfully, and clicked her tongue.

"That's the idea, General Solo," Bail said, ignoring Winter but to give her another withering look. She smiled at him blithely, and Bail went on. "It's entirely possible that if you ever decide you want to marry her, I might approve."

Winter looked at Bail sharply, and then cast a warning glance to Han – but Han did not catch it, his words were already half out of his mouth before he realized Winter was giving a curt shake of her head.

He slapped the Viceroy on the back.

"She's already said she'll marry me," he drawled, tipping his glass smugly – he was halfway to saying something else, something like 'so you better wrap your head around that pretty quick' – when he finally noticed the small wince on Winter's face, and that silenced him – as Bail was giving him a pretty startled look.

It wasn't merely – startled, he looked like he'd been slapped in the face, which instantly told Han that whatever ground Leia had covered in her conversation with him, it hadn't included this. He was instantly defensive, and he felt a flare of sharp irritation at Leia – this was a bigger misstep than telling him she didn't play Sabacc – and Han grimaced, lowering his hand, but prepared to stand his ground.

Bail worked hard to squash the first thought that came to his mind – which was a loud, outraged paternal protest of 'not without my permission' – but he knew it was a declaration that would likely cause an explosive reaction from Han, and it wasn't fair to Leia – but somehow, the mention of matrimony – no, the confirmation of likely matrimony – was hitting him hard, like it had when Rouge mentioned it, and he wasn't quite sure why it seemed like such a fist to the gut, even though Leia had been fairly clear that she had no intention of this relationship ending.

Han eyed Bail, waiting for him to say something, and Winter brushed her fingers on her lips. Chewie gave a soft, welcoming growl, which alerted them all to Leia, who was standing in the doorway, looking at the crowded scene intently, her expression slightly perplexed. Her Aunt Rouge hovered behind her, brows lifted thinly.

"Father, if you came over early to ambush Han, I'm certainly glad Winter thwarted you," she said crisply, a lightness to her tone that was eliminated as soon as Bail turned around, his composure shaken, and with a look if disbelief –

"You've told him you'll marry him?" he asked quietly, a sense of hurt and – shock in his tone.

Leia blinked, clearly taken aback, and she felt a sense of dread crawl up her spine – she saw Winter's apologetic look, she felt Rouge's eyes boring into the back of her head, noted the expression on her father's face, saw Chewie dip his head slightly – and she saw Han, his expression somewhat smug, though it was clear whatever amusement he'd had was fading fast.

"Han," she snapped – and he immediately sobered completely, his jaw tightening.

She looked livid, briefly, and then unbelievably stressed out, and then the emotions all fell behind a cool mask, and the sharpness in her eyes was focused on him. It struck him that until now, he'd had her blindly on his side while she kept her father at arm's length. He figured it was good that strong familial bonds were awakening in her again, and that she was on decent terms with her father, but he didn't want to be on her bad side.

Leia compressed her lips, and stepped forward, and Winter slipped past her and took Rouge's arm.

"There's wine at the table, Auntie," she said.

Rouge merely had a prim, knowing look on her face.

"I told you, Bail," she said, giving him a sharp look as Winter led her away.

Chewbacca made a soft sound, eyeing Leia thoughtfully, and then stepped out for a moment, leaving Bail, his daughter, and her lover alone in the kitchen.

Han grimaced, and straightened up.

"Leia," he started.

She held up a hand, her mouth tightening.

"Father, I asked you to come over at a certain time so I would be here," she said sharply, "so this sort of thing wouldn't happen."

"What thing is that, Lelila?" he asked tiredly, though it was gentle.

"This," she said caustically, "issue – when one of you opens your mouth and says something – provocative to the other," she ground out. "I want to make this adjustment – there is something to be said for a controlled environment – "

"There will not always be a controlled environment," Bail said shortly. He gave her a heavy, searching look. "There won't be any sense of organically getting to know each other, and forming a relationship, if our meetings are always supervised, Leia," he said sagely, frustration creeping into his tone. "There might be less fireworks, but there will also be less authenticity."

She didn't respond, because she knew he was right. Her lips tightened again, and she looked over his shoulder at Han tensely.

"May I speak with Han alone?" she asked curtly.

Bail glanced between them, and then nodded, ducking out of the kitchen. Leia waited a beat, until she heard his footsteps fade, and assured herself that he had not taken it upon himself to listen in, and she strode towards Han, her eyes darkening.

"You had to throw that in his face," she hissed, swallowing hard. "You had to – why did you tell him that, Han?" she demanded.

Because he was unhappy to be caught in this sort of situation, and because she was so immediately angry at him, his own anger flared quick, and he pushed back at her sharply.

"Why didn't you tell him?" he fired back, forgetting to lower his voice, and then hastily doing so. "What the hell was your whole conversation with him about if it wasn't – "

"I needed him to accept the idea of you, and I needed him to start to accept you – marriage is – it's a big deal – "

"I know it's a big deal, Leia," he snapped, "why the hell do you think I haven't asked anyone but you?"

She blinked at him sharply, mellowed for a moment, and then shook her head, softening just a little.

"Han – there was virtually no divorce on Alderaan, marriage was sacred – it's such a serious commitment, and he…he needed more time for just you – "

"You don't exactly get married just to split up on Corellia either," he retorted, pointing at her sharply. "Leia, this is the second time you've kept something from him and then I've gotten the brunt of it – this isn't somethin' I asked you recently, either," he growled. "You didn't really want me to ask him for his permission to marry you, did you?" he asked sarcastically.

"No," Leia snapped, her voice cracking. "I wanted him to have a little more time – I wanted to," she broke off, and Han was startled to see tears in her eyes. "I guess it didn't occur to you that I was – looking forward to telling my father I was getting married," she said, teeth clenched to prevent her voice from shaking, "and seeing him be genuinely happy for me?"

Han leaned back a little, lowering his hand, and Leia turned her head to the side, chin up bravely, blinking back tears.

"He needed a little more time," she protested quietly, "so that it was…instead of just another clinical piece of information he has to accept, it was…something good."

Han's shoulders sagged, but he still felt a burning frustrating at her for – putting him in this position. He'd opened his mouth, yes, but he had no way of knowing that Leia had regaled her father with their whole story and her feelings about him and chosen to leave out this one vital part –

"Sweetheart," he said gruffly, exasperated, tense, apologetic, "you've got to start telling him things, or you've got to tell me when he doesn't know something," he said.

Leia still looked away from him, and after a moment, she lowered her head slightly, and gave a tiny nod—that had been her mistake, but she hadn't expected her father and Han to be having a casual chat in the kitchen, and she sure as hell hadn't thought it would somehow turn into a conversation about – matrimony.

She let out a shuddering sigh, and then thrust her hand vaguely towards the dining room, her expression taut.

"Now he's seen us – he knows we're – fighting again," she said, "all he ever sees is us fighting or you snapping at him."

"I wasn't snapping at him," Han assured her grudgingly. "Winter was mediating," he quipped.

Leia put her hand to her face, her fingers gently probing her forehead, her eyes hidden, breathing out slowly into her palm. Han looked at her for a minute, still feeling tense and frustrated, resigned to the fact that things were just going to be uncomfortable, and slightly rough, for a while. He reached out and pressed his head lightly to the back of her head, drawing her forward. She let him, and she rested her cheek lightly against his chest.

"We're not fighting," he added quietly.

Leia put her hands on his sides, squeezed lightly, and nodded – she conceded that point; it was nothing like the previous fight Bail had seen, just a small spat – and, Leia admitted, partially her fault.

She should have – but she just desperately wanted her wedding announcement to be met with something other than resistance or disconcertion or wariness, and she thought if her father could just have a little more time –

She looked up at Han, swallowing tensely.

"I'm never going to be able to tell my mother I'm getting married," she said hoarsely. Her eyes swam again. He put one of his thumbs on her cheek, but the tears didn't fall. "I'll never get to see the look on her face."

Unspoken, she reprimanded him – I at least wanted to see his – and Han's jaw tightened, because even if it had been unintentional, even if she hadn't properly prepared him for this, he felt like he'd taken something from her that she could never get back, and there was already so much she couldn't get back.

"Leia," he started. He paused, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry."

She heard the pain in his voice, and it made her feel guilty – she drew back, and reached up to touch his jaw, nodding.

"No," she corrected, a sigh escaping her lips. "You're – it's not your fault, Han," she said, stepping away. She turned to face the counter, shaking her head. "I don't know…what the hell possibly got the two of you on that subject," she murmured tersely, "but it's – you're right," she took a deep breath. "The idea of you was starting to settle so well, and I didn't want to," she broke off again. "I'm sorry," she corrected.

Han stared at the side of her bowed head, and then reached up to run his fingers through her hair – it looked windswept and wavy, like she'd taken it down from its neat fishtailed braid on the way home, and let the open air brush through it. She smiled a little at the touch – days later, and he was still fascinated by the hair.

He watched her knuckles clench, and leaned over to kiss the side of her head.

"There's no way to navigate this without flaws, is there?" she asked – even if the Media hadn't ambushed Bail Organa, even if he hadn't walked in on brutal fight, even if, even if – it was just too unprecedented, too uncharted, to be smooth.

"Leia, I don't think he's that upset," Han muttered. Bail was the one who had mentioned marriage, anyway, which meant he'd cautiously considered that was where this would be going. He sighed a little harshly. "Look, now it's all out there," he said flatly. "There's nothing left to blindside him."

She examined her nails – that was true; there was nothing left. The Vader conversation, the Han conversation – all had been had, at least both had been had in such a way that the only thing to do was move forward; accept what could not be changed.

Leia took a deep breath, and lifted her head.

"Dinner was going to be an awkward affair anyway," she said mildly, composing herself.

She turned to Han, and gestured tightly to her face. He rubbed away just a tiny bit of smudged mascara and nodded – she looked completely fine, her usual controlled self. As he leaned down to kiss her, Chewbacca ambled in cautiously, eyeing them.

[Supper is ready,] he ventured, gesturing mildly. [Winter has suggested the topic of Bonding be left for later,] he added thoughtfully. [Your Pa has agreed – although,] Chewie said mildly, [it seems your aunt has soothed him by mentioning that obviously you cannot intend to be Bonded soon, as Leia recently cut off her hair].

Leia laughed hoarsely, a spark bursting into her eyes – and while Chewie grinned at her, Han still felt a little sheepish, a little nettled – but at least glad she was smiling.

"It grows frighteningly quickly," she quipped, with a warm smile at Chewbacca.

She looked up at Han, and tilted her head – indicating they should go in, and He nodded, setting his jaw and bracing himself – she was right, dinner would have no doubt been a very formal, awkward affair anyhow, with so many people and so many sensibilities to get to know and navigate – but now this would be hanging over them.

The least he could do was –

"Leia," he began, catching her arm and drawing her towards him. "Did you tell your old man we played Sabacc the whole way to Bespin?"

She blinked, and then turned her head into his mouth, her eyes narrowing sharply.

"Yes," she said emphatically, although it was clear, in that single word, that she was informing him she sincerely hoped he had not mentioned anything to the contrary –

Han exhaled, and lowered his lips to her shoulder in a contrite kiss.

"See, that's a thing you got to mention, Sweetheart," he drawled. "You've got to tell me these things," he reiterated.

He released her, and stepped beside her to enter the dining room, only to find she was frozen to the spot, her face a mixture of mortification and reluctance. She caught his eye, and her expression solidified into a narrow, reprimanding look, and he felt confident enough to flash a smirk at her – and she found herself thinking of Rieekan's words: this was a galaxy wide narrative, the tension between father and daughter's suitor, and there was going to be no completely smooth path no matter what she did.

---

Leia had originally thought having Winter and Chewbacca around for dinner as well would create more chaos than was healthy for the slowly burgeoning integration of Han's personality with the Organas, but the two of them so tactfully commandeered and directed conversation that it was a pleasant, polite affair with only one or two instances of tension.

Shortly after dinner, Rouge, Winter, and Chewbacca bowed out, though Bail stayed behind with an offer to help clean up – which Leia accepted, because she knew he wanted to talk to her, and he had every right to.

As it turned out, Bail Organa was as fascinated with Leia's endeavors in washing dishes as he had been when he discovered her meager culinary skills.

"Rouge," he decided, watching her run a sponge under hot water, "would have a stroke – 'Your hands, Leia – your hands will be rough!'" he mimicked.

Leia smiled softly, squeezing out the sponge. She handed it pointedly to her father.

"You scrub, I'll rinse," she said, "then, they go in the dishwasher."

Bail's brow furrowed.

"They're already clean, are they not?"

Leia inclined her head.

"According to Han, if I have washed them, they aren't clean until they also go in the dishwasher – and sometimes, not even then," she said, laughing under her breath.

She inched up the temperature on the water spigot she was holding, and arched a brow.

"My highbrow upbringing did not properly teach me how to clean dishes," she advised solemnly.

Bail looked bemused, rubbing the sponge between his hands until it frothed with bubbles. He started running it carelessly over the plate and then handed it to her, and then Leia stared at him. She swallowed carefully, shook her head, and took his hand.

"Scrub, Father," she said. "It's a verb – I know you aren't worried about the softness of your hands; you used to play Smashball."

He took her advice, and put more muscle into the dishwashing, and she arched a brow, entertained.

"I understand how Han feels when he watches me," she teased quietly.

Bail snorted.

"He does not," he said, lifting the plate to examine it with curiosity before handing it over hesitantly – she accepted it with a more approving nod, "seem like the kind of man who is overly concerned with washing dishes."

Leia smiled, spraying the plate with hot water to rinse, and leaning over to place it in the dishwasher rack.

"I know," she agreed, not taking the assessment as an affront. "He has several habits that seem…counterintuitive," she murmured. "He leaves dirty dishes in the sink for days, but when he cleans them, he cleans them."

Bail, eyeing another plate full of soap suds, made a thoughtful noise.

"Where did he go?" he ventured – Han had put up a bit of a fight about letting Leia tend to the dishes, but when he'd been persuaded to relent, he'd come in after the table was cleared and disappeared.

"The Falcon," Leia answered mildly.

"What is he always doing to that ship?" Bail asked – how was it that a man could constantly have something to fix, tweak, manipulate, modify –

"It's often better not to ask," Leia said wryly. "Plausible deniability." She took a deep breath, placing another dish in the dishwasher without much thought. "I doubt he's there to work tonight," she remarked.

She didn't say anything else, because she was sure her father understood that Han had likely retreated because he felt like Leia's father needed space, after all that time at dinner, and after what had been revealed just before – and he probably didn't want to hang around Bail that much, anyway.

His brief moments of acting like himself around Bail had landed him in hot – or rather, perhaps lukewarm – water, and he as back to tight-lipped and circumspect, and as Han was skilled at neither of those things, he just removed himself altogether.

"I do hope he doesn't leave the planet," Bail remarked, deadpan.

Leia laughed, pausing and looking at her father, appreciative of the joke.

"Yes, once was enough," she agreed, lifting her brows intently. "I don't like it when he's gone," she confessed. "He knows that. He went anyway," she reminded him. "I thought it best to let him go anyway."

"Yes," Bail agreed, clearing his throat. "I think it was helpful," he asserted. "I believe you and I were able to reach a point of better understanding – it was noble of him, to take that step back."

Leia just nodded, and turned back to rinsing, closing her eyes a little for a moment – she just hoped it wouldn't come to that again, or it wouldn't keep coming to that, or –

"Leia, may I ask when he asked you to marry him?" Bail asked, keeping his voice even.

Leia was quiet, looking down at the stream of water she was wielding. She blinked hesitantly, and then looked up, and over at him, and gave a small nod.

"Recently?" Bail prompted.

Leia compressed her lips.

"He asked," she began, her voice small. She cleared her throat, and spoke up. "He asked last year," she revealed. She paused before going on, and entrusted her father with more information as a gesture of good faith. Turning towards him, she explained quietly: "After the Battle of Endor, we were all authorized home leave, before the next phase began," she said, "and I had nowhere to go." Her voice was soft, hushed with the pain of what that moment had felt like, the smoke all clearing from the crux of the war and her realizing, really realizing, that when the time came to settle down – she had nowhere.

She swallowed hard.

"Han took me to Corellia," she broke off a moment – she didn't to get into the details of how devastated she'd felt, for a brief time, while she was there with him, and she didn't want to really illustrate how his proposal had come out nowhere, because she was never quite sure what possessed him to ask then – but he had, and there was no going back. "He asked me there."

She turned to the sink again, and flicked off the water for a moment, shaking off her hands.

"A year ago," her father murmured to himself, thoughtful.

Plates clinked together as he moved his hands, and drew them out of water, resting them on the edge, looking at her intently.

"Yet, you aren't married," he pointed out obviously. "He asked a year ago?" he repeated.

She understood her father's confusion – Alderaanian engagements were short. Courtships were often long and leisurely, with careful time spent on evaluating compatibility and solidifying emotional bonds, but engagements were never protracted.

Leia nodded, flicking water off her hands again.

"There was a lot going on, directly after Endor," she murmured. "There were still battles to fight, Grand Moffs and Warlords to defeat – and Han went to challenge one of the worst of them immediately, while I was trying to garner the support of as many systems as possible," she explained. "There wasn't time. And, then, when everything settled," she trailed off.

"Mon Mothma saw you as more of a chess piece than you expected," Bail guessed grimly.

"It wasn't just her," Leia said shortly. "It was all of them. I wasn't sure how the Diaspora would feel – I had some concern they'd ask me to step down from my position, and then there was the …debacle with Hapes," she said debacle with a curious amount of fondness.

Leia sighed, and shook her head, frowning.

"There has been so much chaos, and so much bloodshed, and so much – of everything, that it wasn't the first thing on the list to do," she explained, "and it wasn't the first thing on the list because," she shrugged a little, "Han and I don't need the ceremony to define the commitment."

Leia looked up thoughtfully for a moment, her lips turning down a little tiredly.

"I think he wants it more, now," she murmured.

"More than you do?" Bail asked.

She shook her head sharply – that wasn't what she'd meant at all.

"He didn't expect the backlash," she said. "The Media that's – a silly nuisance, but people like Dodonna, Mon Mothma," she listed, turning her gaze on her father. "They respected him during the war. They valued him. And now they…well, you've seen it," she said, her voice hardening. "They took their issues straight to you. Never mind that you'd been through so much, as long as you could get my love life under control."

Bail smiled a little grimly, remembering one of his fist Council meetings, Rieekan's sharp, scathing jibes – something about fetching him to place Princess Leia in time out.

"You know, part of his hostility – when he's been hostile," Leia ventured, "is that he doesn't want to lose me."

She chewed on the inside of her lip, and narrowed her eyes intently at her father.

"He knows how much my public political life means to me. He knows how much of myself I put into this fight, and he's seen me deprive myself of personal satisfaction in the past in order to further a cause," she held her father's eyes, willing him to understand. "I don't want him to be a casualty of life I was born to, or the one I chose to lead," she said softly. "I'd like Han to be the one thing that, in spite of everything, I can have because I want him. Not for political reasons, or strategy, or anything like that – because I want him. And because Han hates everything about politics and elite social structures and a life that comes natural to me and he asked me to marry him anyway."

Bail shifted his hands, lifting another plate to scrub. He tilted his head back and forth thoughtfully, nodding.

"I'm not going to shake my fist at a man who will fight that hard for you, Lelila," he said mildly. He sighed heavily. "It was merely a shock to hear him say you were going to marry him – "

"Father, he asked – when he asked, you were dead," she said, her voice shaking. "He couldn't have gotten your permission," she said the word a bit sourly, "and Han would have thought asking you was ridiculous – "

"I understand, Leia, I know," Bail soothed firmly. "This happened, along with everything else since you were nineteen, when I was not in the picture, and I can't retroactively fit myself in. And permission is not the word to use – you're beyond legal age, so – "

"Your blessing, then," Leia interrupted, turning her eyes on him again. She felt them stinging, felt her eyelashes dampen, and she wanted to scream at herself for letting tears threaten her for a second time tonight. "I want your blessing. I wanted your blessing, and your receptivity to Han is so fresh," she said hoarsely.

She swallowed, licking her lips.

"I know how intensely we – Alderaanians – value marriage. I knew it might add a dimension that you were unprepared for even if you thought you were. I didn't want you to think I was taking it lightly because you thought Han might be taking it lightly," she reasoned, "and because I have faced disdain for Han and disapproval for this choice at every single turn, I wanted you to adjust to him a little more before you were overwhelmed with this, too."

Leia lifted her damp hands and pushed her hair back, swiping subtly at her eyes and letting out her breath. She put her hand over her mouth and then turned towards him fully.

"Instead of Mon Mothma looking at me like I'm a wasted opportunity, or Dodonna looking at me like I'm a little fool he can't respect anymore, or Threkin Horm looking at me like I'm sullied and easy, I wanted you to hear it and perhaps be comfortable enough that you looked at me and were happy for me," she said, "instead of," she waved her hand, defeated, "the way you looked at me before dinner."

Leia rubbed her forehead.

"I do want you to know it's not public knowledge," she said, speaking around her arm. She lowered it after a moment and looked at him sincerely. "Winter and Chewbacca know."

Bail had abandoned the last dishes, and was wiping his hands – he'd been listening, very intently, trying to discern why the few mentions of marriage had shaken him so much. He had started to think it was merely another manifestation of how shocked he was that she was old enough for all of this. He kept starting to think, or to say – Leia, you don't know what you're getting in to! – but he had to catch himself, and remind himself that she did.

This girl had fought war from start to finish, and experienced the worst of things in between, and she had good head on her shoulders in spite of it – he knew she did, because he'd helped put it there, and he'd given her the tools to keep it screwed on straight.

"You know – Rouge mentioned this, the other night," he said to her. "She said 'Leia's going to marry that man' – and I asked her not to be hasty." He shook his head. "I don't think this should surprise me," he remarked slowly. "Thinking back on what you've told me about him," he went on, and then paused, "It's a bit embarrassing Rouge found that obvious before I did," he finished wryly.

Leia laughed hoarsely.

"Rouge is a woman," she said wisely – even if she was a finicky, excitable, conservative old thing, she was a woman, and that was why she had always been quicker to ferret out Leia's youthful shenanigans than Bail had.

Bail was silent, and thoughtful, and a strange expression crossed his face.

"Father?" she asked.

"I was considering," he said slowly, "what things would have been like if you had been married when I – returned," he said, unsure of what word to use for his – resurrection, emergence?

Leia raised her brows, thoughtful – and he'd have found the whole galaxy in uproar, no doubt, because so soon on the edge of Imperial defeat, Princess Leia had gone and tied the knot with that rapscallion Captain Solo, a scandal of a victory prize for them all to salivate over.

"You think that would have been better?" she asked gently. "Easier?"

Bail looked at her with an incredulous light in his eyes.

"Strangely," he said," I do."

Leia looked taken aback, and then gently amused, and then she lifted her shoulders, helpless – it just further illustrated that this situation was impossible, and because it was impossible, it would have been tangled and snarled no matter what – even if she'd never been hurt in the war, even if she was just an ordinary girl, with an ordinary father, and no dark family histories or scoundrel lovers to contend with.

"I could elope," she quipped softly, a wry offer, and a part of her desperately wished to have it over and done with, so there would be absolutely no more equivocating on the part of anyone – Princess Leia married Han Solo: the end, move on.

Bail gave her a withering look.

"You expect me to live with your Aunt Rouge if you go off and elope?" he asked.

Leia laughed hoarsely.

"Aunt Rouge is appalled at the idea of Han," she countered.

"She will be twice as insufferable if he is not only a commoner, but the commoner who stole her chance at seeing her niece's wedding," Bail retorted.

Leia relaxed against the counter, smiling with more hope, cautiously optimistic.

"Well, I suppose you don't have to live with her forever, Father," she said. "You're both welcome to the Embassy suites, of course, but you're also free to – live your lives."

"Whatever our lives are," Bail said, somewhat haggardly.

Leia smiled, her lips pressed together quietly.

"Your lives are Alderaan," she said gently. "Preserving it, rebuilding it – leading the diaspora."

"And yours?" he probed – on that note, on that question, and it was another inquiry posed to her about who she was, and who she was going to be now that her life was ahead of her.

"It's my life, too," she promised. "I'm…still Alderaan's voice in the senate, and I'm the curator of a shared terrible experience, making sure no one forgets what we lost, and what we fought for – all of us, not just Alderaan."

Bail nodded – there was so much she had to be, for so many people.

He reached out and took her hand, looking down at it – his remark about Rouge lamenting Leia jeopardizing her soft hands seemed absurd now, incongruous, because Leia's hands had long ago lost their untouched smoothness, but they were strong now, and only made more beautiful, and more impressive, somehow, by the roughness of her palms, and a fading scar that dashed across the underside of three fingers.

"Were there...plans laid, for a wedding?" he asked carefully. "Before our beacon. Before our ship reappeared."

Leia shook her head.

It had all been lingering – and before this had all crashed into reality, she'd only just begun to start thinking of when she was going to ease the former Alliance High Command, now legitimate government, into the idea of Han at her side, permanently.

"I would like the chance to get to know General Solo more before something this monumental takes place," he allowed, watching her expression carefully. "My asking you to wait is not to say I will be in anyway attempting to stop it or discourage you," he added.

Leia looked down at his hand on hers and held her breath a moment. She looked up through her lashes, and then straightened.

"The thing is," she said honestly, "I don't – Father, I can't tell Han that everything is just on indefinite hold until you're ready," she pleaded quietly.

"You think he'll get tired of waiting?"

"No," Leia said quietly. Han had done plenty of waiting for her, and she was fairly confident he'd continue to do so. "I think it will only breed more resentment in the long run."

She took a deep breath.

"I don't want to put him off. I want to marry him," she said. "It doesn't have to be tomorrow. But I'd like it to be sooner rather than later."

She saw her father take a deep breath, and in the quiet moment, she felt that every bit of his emotion had more to do with her, grown up before his eyes, and her, having this talk with him, than it had to do with Han.

Bail clasped both of her hands in his and nodded, keeping his expression balanced, and firm.

"Leia," he began, "if you'd – agree to it," he said kindly, but she could tell he was earnest, and he was wary of her turning him down, "I'd like to give you – I'd like you to have a traditional Alderaanian wedding."

Leia's lips parted – it hadn't been entirely what she'd expected him to say, but she supposed she wasn't surprised. It seemed such a simple request – but then of course, it wouldn't be so simple, at all, because she was a Princess, and she was a Princess of House Organa, and that meant dignitaries and fine dining and all the trappings of a royal wedding along with traditional Alderaanian music and vows and food.

And Han – she was sure Han would hate it, the idea of all of fêting and emotional vulnerability in front of crowds of people.

The request, however, tugged at her heart – because for a moment she was a child again at Deara Antilles' wedding, laying over her mother's lap as she watched the bride and groom, awestruck, thrilled with the idea of one day having a ceremony like that of her own.

She thought of her mother, and her eyes stung with tears.

"Father," she managed hoarsely. "Would she like him?"

She didn't even have to say her mother's name, Bail knew instantly what she wanted – Breha's approval, Breha's gentle, sweet smile, Breha's words, Breha's blessing – and he knew his wife well, better than anyone ever had.

"Breha liked everyone," he said honestly. "She loved everyone. She had a habit of saying, even on the darkest days, that people like Emperor Palpatine happened when they weren't given enough love and compassion, and we should remember that in our hatred of him – that all he'd ever had was too much hatred."

Leia crossed her hands over her stomach, biting the inside of her lip – yes, that infuriating, violently loving, brutally sweet part of Breha that Leia had never had – she'd never been able to muster that sort of wise love and burning compassion. Leia was quick to be affronted, and even quicker to determine how vengeance for injustice would be exacted.

"Your mother was the most sensible, accepting, generous person I ever knew," Bail said, "and your affection for General Solo would have been enough to tell her he deserved her love," Bail lowered his head a little, "as, I suppose, it should have been for me."

Leia breathed out slowly, looking down at her feet. She closed her eyes tightly, and she held the tears in rather than forcing them down her cheeks, comforted by the thought – even though Breha wasn't here, Leia trusted Bail's assessment – and she remembered, so clearly, what a genuine saint her mother had been.

Leia took in a deep breath this time, and unfolded her arms, leaning forward and hugging her father quickly.

"There aren't any more shocks, Daddy," she promised quietly. "Nothing else," she pulled back, nodding firmly – from this point on, anything that happened would unfold equally in front of them; there was nothing left she hadn't told him about Han – nothing big, that is – and there was nothing left he hadn't told her about Vader.

He looked at her intently and then narrowed his eyes.

"No illegitimate children?" he asked.

Leia laughed shakily, a shocked glint flickering through her eyes briefly.

She shook her head, then shrugged.

"Oh, only one," she joked.

Her father did not look amused, and she shook her head again, just to reiterate the point – no, and yes, I'm sure; I would have noticed.

Bail smiled and ran his hands over her arms, squeezing her elbows.

"He's a hard man to read, Leia," Bail said, referring to Han intently. "He has a peculiar way of seeming…irreverent. Careless. About everything."

"Hmm," Leia murmured. "That persona takes effort and dedication to craft," she said.

"And you have the power to get under that persona?" Bail asked.

Leia lifted her hand lightly.

"I unravel him like thread."

Bail smiled a little tiredly, and stepped back.

Leia tucked some hair behind her ear and turned back to the sink, examining the things left. She picked up a streaky plate and looked at it, imagining Han's annoyance. She flicked on the water, and sprayed it halfheartedly – washing dishes really wasn't her forte.

Bail turned back to help, but glanced at the chronometer briefly.

"Will he be back?" he asked, brow furrowing.

Leia glanced at the time, too. She lifted one shoulder.

"He's likely waiting for you to leave," she said honestly, "which, in turn, means he's likely to fall asleep on the ship."

Leia set aside a dish.

Bail grimaced.

"That makes me the guy who deprived him of his apartment for the night," he said distastefully – he hardly wanted to be seen as wedging himself in inconveniently, there was already enough discomfort and unfamiliarity still simmering.

Leia compressed her lips.

"It's nothing to worry about," she demurred. "If he doesn't appear for a while, I'll go down and stay with him."

"You'd sleep on that filthy ship?" Bail asked, affronted.

Leia gave him a look.

"That…unique ship," Bail corrected hastily.

Her lips turned up a little, and she shrugged. She paused a moment, and took a deep breath.

"I have…the least nightmares when I'm on the Falcon," she remarked quietly – and hers had been bad lately, even with Han home.

The first few nights had been a mixture of exhaustion and a few good hours of deep sleep, because Han had been the one keeping her awake in a heart-pounding, heated way rather than bad dreams, but they were creeping back, and they were linked to Luke – and she knew she needed to do something to sort out all the chaos in her head, and she didn't know if it was reading Shmi Skywalker's journal or giving in and asking Luke to teach her to mediate.

Her father's voice broke into her head, curious –

"Why do you think that is?" he asked – about her nightmares, about the Falcon.

She was quiet a moment, and then she took a deep breath, tilting her head intently.

"I think," she began. "I think because…the first time I set foot on the Falcon, it took me away from the worst things that had ever happened to me."

In a way, she had even come to love the ship before she'd come to love Han.

Bail nodded, thoughtfully, and Leia snapped her fingers and pointed to a soapy dish, putting his attention back there – and breathing a sigh of relief that this was a move forward again. She still sensed her father would expect the kind of declaration from Han, in favor of Leia, that he was accustomed to at home, but she thought he might also realize that wasn't Han's style – and so much of the problem was Han and Bail coming to understand that despite their different vantage points, they had the best interests of the same woman at heart.

---

-alexandra