Fantasy
The fleet was breaking up again. Their current configuration, always acknowledged to be a temporary situation, would be split in two with each half assigned to a planet parsecs away from the other. The construction of the larger base on a remote outpost of the galaxy, an urgent milestone for months, had encountered delay after delay. Mon had long ceased her sharp inquiries during High Command briefings and adopted a tone of weary resignation instead.
Leia was tasked with overseeing the division of personnel and their equipment between the two new bases. Delegate, delegate, delegate, she had been advised. Devote her intellectual energies to the war strategy, not to divvying up soldiers and boxing up supplies. Let the droids do the grunt work and assign lower-ranking personnel the remaining tasks.
But she couldn't resist immersing herself in the details. After all, military strategy depended on what personnel were in which location and the permutations of pilots, ground troops, support staff and the rest were nearly infinite. On top of that, Altari C was for some reason deemed superior by the Rogues while the maintenance crew seemed to overwhelmingly prefer being stationed on Mykos. Yet you couldn't have one group separated from the other and that didn't take into account the preferred mechanics for individual pilots and X-wings. Then the trash talk would start up with each side trying to convince the other of the superiority of their choice with the end result being the same intractable problem but in reverse.
So naturally she was forced to intervene to make a command-level decision in a way that appeared both organic and carefully planned. If she thought her diplomatic skills had been tested in the halls of Coruscant that was only because she hadn't yet faced a standoff between two stubborn pilots who shared the same ship but not the same climate preference.
The assignments were being posted tomorrow and the base was in a buzz of anticipation. She had been able to evade last-minute pleas for placement by camping out in the briefing room, but a recently-identified mismatch between the number of aircraft and crates of supplies assigned for each had forced her down to the hangar.
"No, that one goes over there." Leia directed a short-range transport droid as it lifted a crate and wheeled it to the side of the hangar designated for Altari C. Four more unassigned crates remained. She ran through the list on her datapad and double-checked the numbers of X-wings allotted to each base.
When she looked up, she caught Han eyeing her from his perch on top of the Falcon. Depositing his hydrospanner next to his feet, he hollered a final instruction to Chewie before swinging down from the edge of the ship and landing smoothly on his feet. Show-off, she thought.
He approached her with a mercenary grin. "You should be making a killing," he said. "All the last-minute jockeying to get assigned to one base or the other. Want me to spread the word that you'll accept payment in the form of precious metals?"
"No thank you," she sighed. "If anyone is dissatisfied with their placement they're welcome to take it up with their immediate superior officer. Or to keep their mouth shut." She looked at him curiously, the question on the tip of her tongue for weeks now. "What about you? At least you can't blame me if you end up on the substandard planet, whichever one it is today."
He shuffled his feet and focused on a spot above her head. "Don't count on me going to either one," he said shortly. "Thought this would be a good time for me and Chewie to sort things out with Jabba. Then maybe I could meet up again when you're all in the same place."
That was a ridiculous notion if she ever heard one. "What kind of plan is that? It will work only if you're able to pay him back and get out in one piece and from what you've said neither of those are particularly likely."
"Nah." Some of his innate confidence returned. "I think I have enough credits scraped together to make a decent-sized payment and buy us some time."
"And then what? You'll tell him you're going back to the rebellion and he'll just let you go? Why don't you invite him to join us while you're at it?"
He rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit, Your Worship. I'll come up with a good story and make sure his minions don't track my ship."
"Where have I heard that before?" she muttered. "Look, Han, you're never going to be able to settle your debt with him. It's always going to work out to his favor."
His manner shifted and he edged closer, jaw clenched. "Don't you think I know that?" he said roughly. "If I had been smart, I would have gone there right after Yavin. But instead I stuck around here and now…" He trailed off without looking at her.
She couldn't ignore the implication that he was blaming the Alliance — or perhaps even her — for his poor decisions. Not for the first time she wondered what had possessed him to go into debt to a crime lord in the first place.
Refusing to be deterred, she grabbed his elbow and steered them out of the way of two crewmen approaching in a suspiciously beseeching manner.
"Han, you don't have to do this alone. You've proven your usefulness to the Alliance time and again. Let us help you out. We can loan you the credits in lieu of future payment."
His reaction was exactly as she expected. "You think I'm gonna accept credits from you? Look at how shabby this place is." He gestured at the ships resting nearly on top of each other. "You can't even build a base that holds everyone!"
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. He wasn't completely wrong. The Alliance coffers were consistently strained and as much as his deal with a Hutt appalled her, she could understand the desperation for cash. Still, the rebellion had their own network of lenders who worked under the radar and would loan them credits at a fair, if not stunning, interest rate. Investors who were perhaps short-selling the Empire and placing their bets on an eventual Alliance victory. The ones who are both rich and crazy, she thought.
"The Alliance has other options for securing credits. We can work something out." She kept her voice level, as if accessing large amounts of untapped funds was a task she did every day.
"No. Absolutely not." His voice sharpened. "I'm not gonna take money from anyone and I don't want to talk about it." He looked away for a second before meeting her eyes again, his own narrow and stubborn. She knew him well enough by now to realize his anger toward her was merely a reflection of what he directed at himself.
They were huddled against the side of the hangar in an attempt to avoid the echoing bustle around them. Her back was to the wall and he was leaning on his shoulder angled toward her. Whatever words she had conjured up in response to his refusal now caught in her throat.
Her nighttime fantasies featuring nameless men whose long, lithe bodies covered her own had recently morphed into more specificity. Now it was Han who assumed the starring role, returning night after night, his expression intense and focused solely on her.
They were in a dark room, a nonexistent room where no one could track her down and interrupt them. She was against a wall, his hands hungry on top of her clothes, his mouth insistent. And then there would be a bed. Or a couch. Or maybe just the floor, but some surface under her back so his body could press down onto hers, his fingers rough under her shirt. She was driven by the distant memory of his hand on her bare skin; instead of just her breast, though, he was now gripping her everywhere, the pinch of pain a welcome contrast to the ache between her legs.
And she would be just as fervent in return, tugging at his hair, twining her legs around his back, biting his shoulder. Responding in kind instead of holding herself still, matching his intensity with her own.
Her furtive scenarios were particularly unrelenting when he was off base, as if her imagination overflowed in his absence. It was almost a relief to encounter him in the corridor recently returned from one of his runs, the cool brush of annoyance seeping into their interactions and salving the heat. Newfound resolve to put him out of her mind would instill a determination and focus that would inevitably dissipate the next time he left.
"Leia?"
Her face flared hotter as she pulled herself back to their conversation. Away. She had to get away from him and focus on something else. Not to her cabin where the urge to relieve the ache would be too distracting, but to the briefing room. Yes, back to the briefing room. And she would find someone on her team to complete the division of spare parts. Darin could do that easily.
Backed against the wall, her only option to escape without touching him was to slide out sideways. She sidestepped around him into empty space and immediately felt cooler. More like herself.
"Princess? You okay?" Perhaps misreading her silence as offense, he folded his arms and glanced around nervously. "Look, it'll be fine. I'll give Jabba what I have and we'll be back in no time."
She shook her head, more certain than ever that they were both flailing ineffectively at the reality looming in front of them. "That won't work, Han," she whispered, a surge of pity welling up inside of her. "It's just a fantasy."