"Same time next week?" Han asked cheerfully, rising out of his seat to lower the landing ramp for her. They'd arrived back at the Rebel base as scheduled. Outside the cockpit's transparisteel panels, the familiar hangar hummed with activity: pilots, mechanics, and ground staff of all nations and planets, busily putting together the pieces of the Revolution.
Leia finally exhaled.
"Let's not push our luck," she laughed. She followed Han out into the main hold, where he leaned against the hatch and watched her tug her boots back on. Regardless of their results, it was unlikely that High Command would send her back out anywhere near that quickly. She knew the importance of rotating assets, not getting cocky. "But hopefully soon."
"Yeah, I hope so too," Han said. Leia glanced up, bracing for the sarcastic second half of that comment, but none came. He turned away to smack the ramp controls, then skulked off into his cabin without a word of good-bye.
Few things were more disorienting than stepping out of a soundproof briefing room and tumbling into a party. It was late; the base's atmospheric lights were dimmed to the evening setting that was meant to encourage sleep, yet the mood was frenzied. Leia hovered at the threshold between the command center and the mess hall and waited for her eyes to adjust. The entire day shift, it seemed, instead of dutifully going to bed, had assembled in the closed canteen and rocketed to festive heights Leia hadn't seen since Yavin – all in the time it had taken her to give her report.
Nobody she approached seemed interested in explaining what they were celebrating. "We got them!" was the simple, unanimous answer. It was a raucous cheer, accompanied by offers of drinks, sandy pieces of packaged cake, and more drinks. An impromptu band had formed in the center of the large hall: four spirited recruits from Naboo stood on a table, adding their reed-stringed harp and their throaty voices to the uproar. It was a song in the traditional style, sung in their ancient language. Leia could only make out the chorus: To Victory… Sweet Victory!
Naboo wasn't the only planet on display; a string of young Corellians careened through the crowd in a madly uncoordinated dance, hands on each other's drunken hips, swaying with abandon. Leia gave them a wide berth as she picked her way through the revelers. In the far corner of the room, she spotted Han and Luke drinking merrily with some of the young Jedi's squadron.
Luke waved her over to their table.
"The scouts took down a battleship! And all the satellite fighters. And you won't believe it – " He paused to delightedly accept another beer. "They were just out on a recon mission, but they spotted the flotilla, and… The Carida sector Moff was on it!"
"Saw a chance and took it," Han nodded approvingly, between hearty sips from his own cup.
Leia gaped at them. No wonder the base was in uproar – this was incredible news. A huge victory after months in the trenches. She dropped down besides Luke and pressed him for details.
"Any casualties? And did we really get all their fighter pilots? We weren't followed?"
"Wiped them off the map," Luke responded cheerfully. "No witnesses. Let their Info-Nets explain that."
Already, Leia's mind raced ahead. She could picture it so clearly, the hole punctured in the Empire's web, its repercussions. "No regional leadership, and all the goons in their chain of command will be busy cutting each other down for a chance at power. That gives us plenty of room to maneuver. This is… oh!"
Words failed her, but the pilots cheered anyway and plied her with drinks. Leia gave in to the urge to down half a bottle of beer, then sank back in the booth and let the fizzy feeling of victory bubble up inside her. A battleship was a costly loss for the Empire, a blow both to the Emperor's arsenal and to the Imperial treasury – not to mention their ability to govern the region. They would have to move other ships around, scramble for resources... This was only the beginning.
Shots were poured, though this time Leia demurely declined. She nodded along with the animated chatter, but behind the gracious smile, she was lost in calculations and strategic reverie. She didn't look up when the Corellian dance chain first whirled past. On their second spin, two of the dancers broke away from their companions, carried by a rogue current. They crashed ashore at the pilots' booth. One of the girls perched on the table, while the other, a mechanic Leia recognized from the hangar, gracefully capsized into Han's lap.
"Hello," she slurred.
"Hello," Han said politely, resting an amiable hand on her waist. She wore the Alliance training leggings and the usual crew top, which rode up when she grabbed his shoulders to pull herself forward, so close that she had to curve her head down to better whisper in his ear. Her loose hair tumbled over them, shielding their faces from view. From the way her counterpart looked on proudly, and the uproarious laughter of Luke's squadron, Leia surmised that she was explaining the terms of whatever bet that had landed her in this position – legs spread heavy astride her candidate, pinning him down with cheerful determination. Her body still winding relentlessly, in what little space was left between them, to the beat.
"I don't know," Han's voice drawled from inside the curtain of hair. "You tell me."
This was as good a cue as any to take her leave, Leia decided. She'd been awake for a good eighteen hours. To celebrate a victory was one thing, and she didn't hold it against these brave soldiers, but her father hadn't raised her to waste her evenings in debauchery. Everyone here would once again look to her as their leader in the morning, and there was still so much work to do.
She floated to her feet.
"Good night, Luke," she said crisply, but Luke was too absorbed in the uproar to hear her. Her empty bottle clinked against he table when she set it down – a decisive, reassuring sound. She waded back into the crowd in search of the exit.
"Princess!"
Leia whirled around and nearly collided with a sudden wall of torso, arms, and multipocket vest. She hadn't heard Han follow her out of the mess, but he'd caught up so quickly that they all but crashed into each other when she stopped. He reached out to steady her, missed, laughed and gripped the wall besides them for support. He was drunk.
They were alone in the darkened corridor. She knew the music was still roaring behind them, though it was muffled by the canteen's blast doors, and that the night shift was presumably busy at their posts, but the base felt deserted. Leia had been thinking about her bunk, hoping the dormitory would be just as empty, when she heard him call out. She immediately tensed. What could he possible want? Their assignment was over. The day was over. He was free to spend the rest of the night carousing with whomever he pleased. All she wanted now was to go to sleep, and whatever favor he'd come to ask of her, she didn't feel inclined to give a fraction.
"Leaving already?" Han asked. "I'll walk you."
The absurdity of the offer jarred her. The last time she'd heard these courtly words would have been on Coruscant, a lifetime ago, where the rarified, pedestrian streets between the Senate building and her apartments were long and lined with romantic trees, and the finely tailored legislative aides had liked to imagine dangers lurking in their trim shadows. They'd kept their hands in their pockets. "What for?" she snapped now. "Think I'm likely to get lost between here and the barracks?" There were only three buildings on this base, crouched around the edges of the sparse landing field. Think anybody else here makes passes like you do? she could have added, but some merciful restraint stopped her. Clearly she knew nothing about passes, and never had, and it would only make him laugh. She crossed her arms and looked up at him with all the condescension she could muster. "Go back to the party."
He shook his head. "Had enough."
"Bored of her already?"
The words spilled out before she even knew she'd say them, and to Leia's dismay, they came out heated, rushed, like she was angry, and she knew had no reason to be. It was his nonchalance that set her off, once again. The way nothing ever seemed to stick to him, the way women climbed into his lap only to slide right off. That and the beer, which seethed inside her.
Han stared at her in amazement.
"I'm not interested in her."
"Really?" Leia remarked. "She seems like your type."
The pointed comment fell flat. This time, he didn't reply, though he'd swayed nearer while they spoke. His gaze bored down into hers, and she felt something in her chest beginning to shake under their strange weight. He'd been drinking the stormy Twi liquor the pilots always passed around, and he stood so close now that she could smell the alcohol on his breath – sweet and warm and something dark she'd never tasted. His hand dropped away from the wall and she thought of how it had swallowed up the Corellian dancer's waist. She thought of the dancer's thighs wrapped tight around his hips, and she wondered if straddling the blaster hurt.
"You're jealous," he said finally, his voice low.
But he said it like a bet. There was another long pause between them, in which she knew she looked incredulous and he looked down at her expectantly, patiently, like he'd guessed her cards and called them, and he was waiting for her to fold.
If she was shaking, Leia decided then, as his eyes roamed her face, it was because she was angry, and if she was angry, it was because he crossed lines. She drew lines and he crossed them. She left and he followed. She drank and spoke rashly, he drank more and opened closed doors. He had no right.
"Don't be ridiculous," she bit out, through the fresh surge of heat that gripped her, left her mouth dry and her head hazy.
Han started to scowl, but Leia tore her gaze away. "Good night, Captain."
She turned on her heel and tried not to run.