Others

She would see him in the corridors, coming her direction, a brief nod and meeting of their eyes their only interaction. Or they would reach a junction at the same time and he would walk beside her, exchanging updates on the latest developments in the war or news he had picked up on his runs.

Sometimes he would tease her unprovoked. That tended to be in the company of others, as if he required an audience for his jibes and insinuations. How's life at the top, Princess? Any word on whether us peons can get some of those fancy new cooling units we keep hearing about? If she approached the group with Luke or someone else, she would separate herself from them, bristling at the assumption that she couldn't hold her own against him. Against someone who was so clearly arrogant and flippant and unserious. His demeanor had evolved the longer he stayed and she had almost forgotten the night they spent outside.

And then she heard the rumors: Han and Lieutenant Iseley. Ana. Not his usual type, she thought. Medium height, curvy. Of course she forced herself to admit that she didn't know his usual type, but she thought that they were ill-matched regardless.

She observed them flirting in the hangar, just outside the Falcon. Sitting together in the mess. Other times he would eat with her and Luke and the Rogues enjoying the smirks and winks from the pilots. She rolled her eyes as if on cue. Men.

And yet she never caught Ana going in or out of the Falcon. Of course she made it her mission not to pry, not to show any interest in anyone's personal life. But she was around the hangar often enough that she should have seen evidence of a nighttime retreat at least occasionally.

She focused on her work. On the assignments and the intelligence and also on the conflicting personalities of High Command, personalities that were powerful but nevertheless included weaknesses and flaws. Flaws that could perhaps be exploited to her advantage. To the Alliance's advantage. After all, they needed their best people if they were to win the war.

The embarrassment she felt from that night faded over time. He never referred to it, and she stopped worrying that he would. She chalked up her forwardness to the cold and exhaustion and grief. After all, she wasn't built of stone.

One morning he was in a clump of pilots joshing about one thing or another. She strode over and asked to speak with Wedge about the assignments for the upcoming diplomatic missions. They conferred to the side for several minutes before rejoining the group.

"Hey. Princess." The conversation halted with his words. She looked up from her datapad reluctantly. His tone held an undercurrent of — what? Not quite hostility. Perhaps assertiveness flavored with insecurity.

"While you were off chatting with your boyfriend, we were trying to figure out why the squadrons are only half-deployed for these various maneuvers when it's obvious they could use the help."

She didn't even blink at boyfriend. "We have to conserve our resources. That includes both our pilots and our ships."

"Well, surely the pilots twiddling their thumbs on base can be training new recruits. So they can eventually get some backup."

She felt the eyes on her. It wasn't a secret that morale had taken a dip. Their surprise victory at Yavin had resulted in a rush of recruits but now that the Empire was clawing back and cracking down, finding interested, available pilots wasn't nearly as easy.

"We've expanded the reach of our recruitment efforts. We expect to have another wave join us in the next few weeks." This was public news, communicated throughout the fleet by the military leadership; there was no reason he wouldn't know it.

"So when are they gonna be ready to do any real work?"

"I don't know why that would concern you. They'll be ready when they're ready."

"Well, it concerns me when I'm asked to swoop in at the last minute to save their sorry asses."

"That was one time and you were already in transit."

"Rookies flying through a bunch of Imperial fighters have a way of getting in over their heads. Experienced pilots are always better prepared for those situations."

"Obviously. That's why we're increasing our recruitment and training." Apparently he was determined to be obtuse.

"Well, maybe all these bureaucratic procedures should speed up a little before we die of old age."

She drew herself up. Enough was enough. "You know, you don't have to be here at all, Captain. No one is forcing you to stay."

Without waiting for a response, she left the hangar fuming at his behavior. A performance. That's what it was, a performance designed to get under her skin in front of others.

Later that day she spotted him in the corridor on her way to Mon's office. As she approached, he positioned himself directly in her path.

"Excuse me," she said pointedly.

He didn't budge. "Look, I didn't mean to be so hard on you back there. I know it's not your fault that everyone's feeling strapped."

"If you know it, then why did you say it?" she snapped.

"I was giving voice to the things that I hear. Things that you may not."

She rolled her eyes. "What a hero you are." He opened his mouth but she ignored him. "You think I'm not aware of the frustrations? We all share them. And I hear my fair share of complaints."

"Yeah, but they won't say it to you the way they say it to me."

"So what?"

"So, Princess, I'm only trying to help."

This exchange was going nowhere. "You're a coward, you know that?"

She felt a grim satisfaction when he looked taken aback. "I'm a coward?"

"Yes. You." A heat rose in her. "You put on this act that everyone can see through and then you pretend to be shocked when your words have an effect." Wait. That didn't make sense. Why would his words have an effect if she could see through them?

He smirked. "I got to you, huh. Was it the comment about your boyfriend?"

"That's absurd. Why would you think that?" She meant about it getting to her.

"You're always off talkin' with him, whispering. What else are we supposed to think?"

"You're delusional," she spat. "He's a squadron leader, of course I talk to him about those things." She forced herself to stop. She didn't owe him an explanation. "Besides, you're one to talk. You're the one actually —."

Something shifted in him. A realization, perhaps. She clenched her lips, furious that she had said as much as she had.

"I have to go." She wove past him, barging into the wall as she rounded the corner to Mon's office.

Inside, Mon was upright and formal and Leia's irritation only increased.

"I don't need to tell you that we're in a tight spot right now, Princess," she began. "If we don't make adjustments to our approach, we risk sacrificing all of our recent gains."

Leia stayed uncharacteristically silent.

Mon leaned forward. "I'd like you to extend your intelligence work to bridge the traditional gap with our military strategy division. I know that most of your experience is in the diplomatic realm, but we can no longer afford to keep those separate. At this point in time, we need to move forward in a more, ah, holistic manner."

Holistic. Right. "If my duties are to expand, I'll need a team to support me."

Mon nodded, unsurprised. "Let me know who you have in mind. General Melcott will now be overseeing the supplies and procurement department, so some of his direct reports will be available for your use."

Poor Melcott. That was clearly a demotion. "I'll send you my list in the morning."

Head spinning, she left Mon's office and found her way back to her quarters. The sudden promotion should have motivated her put her head down and get to work, but she couldn't face that yet.

She stood in the middle of the room, thinking of nothing. Then she took down a bottle from the shelf. Poured herself a glass. Sat at her desk and remembered the night he had stopped by, the way he looked at her, almost as if he were confused. His hands on her face and the heat of his breath as he had leaned in. And how he had acted today.

She finished her drink, took off her clothes, stretched out on her bunk, and went to sleep.