First Things First:
...Wow. This story has been in the works for three long years... I can't quite believe it's finally done…
To all those who write multi-chapter fics, and those who write them routinely... ALL the respect!
THANK YOU to justinegraham, for first guiding me to capture a single nugget from a sprawling array of ideas. THANK YOU to both justinegraham and erindarroch, who reviewed early drafts, redirected me when things veered off track, and offered kind words of encouragement. And, most definitely, THANK YOU to AmongstEmeraldClouds... she is a jewel indeed. Like a master gardener she tamed this wily and gnarly thing: pruning where needed, waiting for new growth to fill in, and guiding it to its full, final shape. And, like a wise gardener with an abundance of good humor, she accepted with a laugh those parts where nature (aka me, ha!) was unruly and refused to be tamed. AmonstEmeraldClouds, my dear friend—thank you!
Finally... This story took root in the soil of grief. But that soil, as dark as it is, is also rich. So to anyone who might need to hear this: if you find yourself with that same dark, rich soil—stay with it. Look after it with tenderness, love, and care... and may you eventually find yourself in a peaceful, beautiful garden.
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A Princess and a Guy Like Him
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6 Weeks After the Battle of Yavin
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How does one even begin to grapple with loss as catastrophic as that of Alderaan? Can the impact truly be grasped in the single, searing moment of total destruction? Or is it only over time—through unexpected interruptions of previously insignificant activities—that the profundity and depth of loss is perceived? ... turning to the local section of a news feed only to find "error: news source not found"... reaching out to place a call to your mother or father then stopping half-way, realizing there will be no answer… And when you are still expected to show up, carry on, do your work, be a leader—can you even afford to grieve? Dare you risk it?
How does one come to be a regular in a wretched hive of scum and villainy? Though one's true nature may appear briefly in moments of crisis, what may have happened to obscure that nature to begin with? What experiences might have resulted in becoming the favored hire of a despicable crime-lord, or in the fall from the crime-lord's grace? In being at ease in environments cracking in the desiccated air of poverty? In being willing to risk one's life in the depths of a superweapon for the chance to earn a small fortune? When finally face to face with wealth or good deeds, what lack of experiences might render your sensors inoperative and your instincts useless? And when your vulnerability reveals itself and you stumble—who will catch you? Will you let them?
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Mission Day 1:
Departing for Dansend
0900 hours
The Millennium Falcon sat on the hangar bay floor of the marginally occupied Yavin IV base, warmed and ready for takeoff. Han Solo and Chewbacca had been waiting in the cockpit for nearly an hour—well before their scheduled departure time twenty minutes ago—but their passenger had yet to arrive.
Leia was late.
Han was fighting to contain his irritation. It didn't matter that Leia had sent a brief message saying she'd be late, and he knew the twenty-minute delay wasn't going to make a big difference anyways. No: this was a matter of principle. He may not be running a first-rate operation, and he may not be high-class like their royal passenger, but even he knew the importance of arriving on time; he hadn't survived as long as he had by expecting others to wait for him.
Still, principles or no principles, this was a paying job and with the hope of more jobs in the future, both he and Chewie knew they'd better keep their frustration from spilling over. So, they continued to wait, with as much patience as they could muster.
With nothing but time to spare, they had repeated their pre-flight checklists for a third time, then moved on to prioritizing a list of repair projects. The hyperspace journey to Dansend would take around seventy-two standard hours, and Chewie would have additional days waiting in port while Han, acting as a sort of security detail, accompanied Leia to her negotiations with her contact. This gave Han and Chewie plenty of time to finally get to projects long left on the backburner.
Han's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his copilot. "We've waited on this for weeks. We could start first thing tomorrow."
[The access panel is on the support wall outside of the bunk room] Chewie replied calmly.
"Yeah, so?"
[It will wake her.]
Han paused. "Her."
[Yes.]
"Leia?"
Chewie tilted his head. [Is there another princess around here?]
Han snorted, glancing away briefly. "You never worry about waking me up."
Chewie shrugged. [I like her.]
"Her?"
[I believe we've covered this.]
Han pursed his lips, amused despite himself, before continuing. "She called you a carpet, you know."
Chewie nodded. [Well. Carpet is a luxury. I take it as a compliment.]
"Don't think she meant it as a compliment, pal."
A bark of laughter rang through the cockpit. [Of course not. But she did take the time to insult me while trying to escape from the depths of the enemy's lair. I like her.]
A flash of white outside the viewscreen caught their attention, saving Chewie from Han's retort about his perspective on human females, and they turned to watch as Leia approached the ship, moving briskly through the cavernous hangar bay. Yet as she neared the foot of the ramp, she came to a slow stop, turning to face away from the ship as if waiting for something.
The contrast between Leia's appearance and her surrounding environment was striking. Her clothing and gear were utilitarian enough for a military base: a form-fitting, standard-issue uniform of trousers, tunic, boots, and utility vest, each piece a different but coordinating shade of white, with a plain traveling bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair was arranged in a simple way, her braids wrapped neatly into a functional style. And yet, with her posture straight and balanced as it had been at the medal ceremony mere weeks ago—her chin held just a bit too high to be comfortable and her body as still as a statue—she looked detached, and distant. Regal. Refined.
Han's simmering irritation heated to a roiling boil. He and Chewie were among the handful of beings who had ever seen the princess looking unrefined. He had seen her hair sticking out in all directions from her usual precise and tidy updo. He had seen her pristine clothing covered in grease and grime, and had suffered for hours from the smell of garbage water that clung to the fabric. With most other people, a shared experience like their dramatic escape from the Death Star would have led to a little humility, a little bit of relaxed, friendly-like interactions. Not with her, apparently. He had seen her angry, determined, fired up and passionate. But here, at the Falcon's ramp, after everything that had happened—even after weeks of the occasional casual greeting around base—she had the gall to forget all of that and—
[Doesn't she know she can just come in?] Chewie finally asked.
"All I know is she's late," he said, rolling his eyes and rising from his seat. "I'll go get her."
The sound of boots striking metal reverberated in the empty space around the ship as Han descended the ramp. Turning to face him, Leia's expression was composed, as if sculpted from marble. "Captain Solo, I trust we are ready for takeoff?"
Han's irritation boiled over. Stopping at the base of the ramp, he shifted his weight to one leg and hooked a thumb in the belt of his holster. "Why yes, Your Highness. We've been ready for the past hour."
She paused. "I apologize," she then said, without any further reaction. "I was finalizing an administrative matter before we departed."
"You mean you didn't have everything finished all nice and tidy-like already?"
At that, Leia's eyes flashed hot while her marble facade remained cool. "Perhaps you should pay closer attention to mission details, Captain. The fuel taxes and landing fees at Depryvet spaceport were just increased again. I decided to update the mission budget before departing to reflect this change, in order to ensure that your compensation for this mission would remain as we agreed."
Han blinked, trying to cover his surprise. People usually tried to short-change him, not… not… Not knowing how to reply, he chose instead to ignore it. He motioned to her bag. "Got everything?"
"Yes," she nodded. "Let's go."
Stepping to one side, Han gestured up the ramp. "After you."
Shooting him a withering look and without a single word, she proceeded past him up the ramp and into the ship. After a final check around their landing pad, Han followed her through the hatch.
As the ramp closed behind him, Han was surprised to find her just a few steps along the corridor, her back to him, her posture once again stiff and regal. Something wasn't adding up. He knew damned well she knew her way around the ship, yet here she stood, looking down the corridor as if she didn't know where to go.
He moved to walk past her, gesturing down the corridor in the direction of his bunk room. "So, same as last time—"
Leia's head whipped towards him, her lips parted, her eyes wide as moons. In the harsh lighting of the Falcon's corridor, her face was nearly as pale as her uniform.
Han froze. "You all right?"
Leia closed her mouth and swallowed, rapidly blinking her eyes back down to size. "Yes, yes of course, I…" Turning away from him, she directed her gaze back towards the far end of the corridor. "I was just wondering about the sleeping arrangements. Where I should put my things."
Han paused, wary and cautious. Leia was clearly trying to cover—well, trying to cover whatever it was that just happened. And it was a lousy cover, too. But hey, if she wanted to keep up appearances, he'd play along. They were going to be stuck together in hyperspace for three days, after all; best for everyone if feathers, fur, and hair were left unruffled.
"Yeah. So," Han continued, picking up where he had left off without further comment, "same as before, you can take my bunk for the whole trip. Everything's ready for you. Just make yourself at home."
Leia was silent for a moment before quietly responding. "Same as before," she nodded. "Thank you, Captain," she said, then without a second glance she walked down the corridor in the direction of the bunkroom.
Chewie eyed his friend as Han resumed his place in the pilot's chair. [Everything ready?]
Han nodded his head, his gaze unfocused. "Yeah, fine. Her Worship's on board and getting settled."
[But…?]
"I dunno, pal." Han paused. "She was kinda… strange."
Chewie was quiet for a moment. [This is her first time back on board.]
"What?"
Chewie regarded his friend silently. [It is her first time on board this ship since the Death Star. This could be a difficult trip for her. You know how it goes.]
Han's jaw tightened as he straightened up in his seat, returning his focus to the ship's controls. "Yeah, well, however it goes, we got a job to do here. Let's just do what we need to do, earn our credits, then move onto the next job."
.
2200 hours
Lying on her side, Leia stared at the blank wall, trying to force herself to sleep. It was true there had been a last-minute budgeting issue regarding Han's payment, but that had only been part of her delay. Frankly and quite uncharacteristically, she had simply been dragging her feet. She had had her reservations about this mission since the logistical issues were first—no, that wasn't it. She had had her reservations about going on this mission on the Falcon. Of course, circumstances had prevented other options, so she had tried to accept with grace the single reasonable transportation option. Yet clearly, her reservations lingered. As much as she wanted to travel to Dansend and meet with Lady Eldera and as much as she knew the Alliance would benefit from the support of Dansend, she just didn't want... well, she just didn't want to go on the Falcon.
With a huff she flipped onto her back and glared up at the ceiling above the bunk. All day long she had tried to focus on her work only to be repeatedly interrupted, either by the intermittent sounds of the Falcon or by Han telling her to help herself to the ship's food stores whenever she liked. And now, even though she was simply trying to fall asleep, she was still impossibly distracted by the unfamiliar sounds of her surroundings. Every little whoosh of the air handling system, every ding of a metal panel, and every beep of an electrical system startled her to a state of alertness, reminding her of the last time she had been on the ship, when it had sped away from the Death Star, away from the scene of a horrific crime, away from Alderaan—
Leia inhaled sharply, driving her thoughts in a new direction.
It was this ship. This damned ship, this rickety old bucket of bolts, was just getting to her. The Captain and his Wookiee companion were certainly skilled pilots, so she didn't understand why they would want to continue flying this piece of junk. She knew they were not well off, and that they may not be in the position to afford the latest model of freighter, but surely they could get something in better condition than this old YT-1300? It was about to fall apart, she was certain of that. She could hear it. The ship was even noisier now than it was the last time she had been on it. Though of course, the last time she was on the ship, she may have been too exhausted to fully notice its many noises, having just escaped from captivity, endless days lost in time, marked only by the regular sessions with Vader—
Clenching her jaw, she forced her eyes back to the ceiling, counting the seams in the tiles. Focus, Organa. Focus.
She wondered if Han and Chewie held the ship together by sheer force of will. They were a formidable duo, those two, clearly capable and resourceful, they were no doubt as adept in the other skills necessary for their trade as they were in piloting—if smuggling could even be considered a trade—
Leia!
Her mother's admonishing tone echoed in her mind—
She gasped, throwing herself back onto her side, reaching desperately for her datapad. The current assets report. She hadn't triple checked that yet. If she couldn't sleep she could at least review the report again, make absolutely sure there were no errors in the calculations.
She just needed to work…
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