The celebrations seemed endless in the days following the Alliance's victory over Yavin. The Empire had never been so humiliated since its brutal inception, and the news swept the galaxy. Now, on one of the new interim bases on a glorified rock in the middle of nowhere, a parade of new recruits arrived each day. They were the ones who had packed a bag the moment the Death Star's explosion was reported on the underground channels – transported through the rebel networks on their respective planets, they travelled from safehouse to safe port to incognito ship, arriving giddy and sleep-deprived, to the cheers and toasts of their fellow rebels. The heady rush of belonging to the cause cancelled out the hangovers, and they seemed to float through the early morning patrols and memorization exercises, the lines at the canteen, and the endless security trainings. Each new task a revelation, a necessary and noble step towards their shared dream.
Han couldn't relate. He'd enlisted in something at their age, sure, but that had been more for protection than for anything else. The Empire didn't require much conviction of its recruits. He'd stood up for injustice in the heat of the moment – the Wookie currently snoring on his ship could testify to that – but that had been his temper getting the best of him. He was lucky to have survived the fallout. Just when he'd thought that this hot-headed streak was safely behind him, laid to rest in the boneyard of his youth, a farm boy and a princess had somehow touched a nerve and triggered it again, spurring his last-minute return to the battle over Yavin. He was still trying to work that one out.
But signing up for martyrdom, on purpose, like these kids had? Planning your own demise? No way.
The Alliance had been on this no-name red speck for a little over a standard week now. Han had tagged along – he didn't know why. Caught up in the post-Yavin whirlwind, most likely. They'd needed help moving equipment, and he had a big ship. Or maybe he was just curious, and had a little time to spare. Nobody knew he was here, and nobody here seemed to know who he was.
What passed for air on the dwarf planet tasted strongly of rust. The Rebels had suspended their physical fitness drills for the duration of their stay here because breathing in too deeply made everyone lightheaded. Everything was slightly red – the ground, the dust, the atmosphere – which made the dull lights of the open-sided hangar glow pink. Tonight, the pilots played Sabacc, and it was as good an excuse as any for everybody else to mill around and drink. The game was slow, played for spare credits and laughs – a more relaxed ambiance than Han was used to. From his seat at the scuffed card table, he surveyed the scene.
Even her Worship had joined them. The Princess didn't blend in, despite her fatigues and boots, or her underfed, overworked pallor. She caught his eye from across the crowd. Han wouldn't call her fake, but she sure didn't seem natural, sticking close to Luke as he mingled with the mechanics and Alliance grunts. Her youth made her a peer. Her palace upbringing and her security clearance created distance. The revelers welcomed her accordingly – not as an interloper, sent down from the upper echelons to enforce or report back, more like a distinguished visitor. Here to watch the gambling in an unofficial capacity, allowing herself one illicitly smuggled ale with a wry smile, as though out of respect for the prevailing mood of the occasion. He'd never seen anyone make a beer bottle look elegant, but it looked like fine crystal in her dainty hand.
It reassured him, somehow, to see her so out of her element. He'd been intent on solving her for days, ever since she came onboard his rescue ship and insulted him, but now Han saw there was no mystery. She didn't know how to behave at eye-level. A diplomat. He was relieved to have found a box for her.
And with that, Han tossed his cards face-up on the table. A chorus of good-natured groans erupted from the pilots around him. "You're cleaning us out, Solo!" They weren't really trying, and he didn't want to overstay his welcome. So he played another two hands then folded, clinking their bottles amiably as he pushed his chair back. Boring party anyway, he thought as he made his way to his ship, weaving through the exuberant revolutionaries. They'd all already pledged their allegiance to the cause and to each other, so couldn't they talk about something else?
The Millennium Falcon was docked at the edge of the fleet, half-in, half-out of the durasteel awning, ready to take off at a moment's notice. From his new vantage point several paces away from the crowd, Han contemplated the recruits' matching uniforms and the lost diplomat's perfect posture, which he decided was part of what blew her cover. He leaned against the Falcon's hull, determined to finish the glass of punch they'd poured him – to clear his mind before turning in. The Princess had been occupying too much space in his head lately, with her sharp tongue and her low opinion of him, and he didn't want to bring thoughts of her into his cabin. That's what the box was for.
In vain. As he drank, Han idly wondered if he'd ever been with a girl as short as her. Yes, once. About that size. Shaved head. He'd bounced her up and down on his lap, her legs dangling over the sides of the pilot's seat. Then he'd picked her up and turned her around. He'd liked that. Her Highness looked good but he doubted she'd be much fun, if the rigid spine was any indication. Or would she be? Maybe it would be fun to loosen her up. Melt her ice shield, see how hot he could get her? He couldn't think of the last time he'd had to work for it like that. These days, he was usually happy to entertain just about any humanoid female who winked at him, and there were plenty. He knew one in almost every major space station. There were two of them within a three-hour jump, in fact. Easy. Did princesses even –
"Good evening, Captain Solo," the princess said, materializing in front of him.
Han nearly choked on his drink. Somehow he hadn't registered her approach, even though he'd been staring straight at her over the rim of his cup. Either she was a Jedi too, or he was losing his edge.
"Is something wrong?"
"Nope," Han shrugged, straightening up. He looked down into her upturned face, framed by sable braids. She really was very small, and her features reminded him of a doll he'd seen in a window once. Delicate. She was still holding her solitary bottle of ale, letting it swing from her slender fingers. He cleared his throat. "Off to the Mid Rim tomorrow morning. Another fetch-it run for your dear leaders."
A loud cheer spilled over from the party, where toasts were being made. They both took a sip, almost automatically. Han watched her drink and wondered what she was doing, out here talking to him, instead of celebrating with Luke and the rest of them.
"Have you given any thought to enlisting?" she asked, after a companionable pause.
There it was. The diplomat had come out to recruit him.
"There's a bounty on my head," he reminded her. "I'm just getting you kids settled here, but I gotta leave soon. Jabba made me an offer I can't refuse." That was gangster code for Drop it. He didn't want to get into it right now. Up to his neck in debt, bad decisions, and the mob. It was nice to stand in the shadow of his ship, far away from it all, and forget. Pretend that he often drank with doe-eyed royalty. That they were equals, and that it could lead somewhere. He didn't want her to drag his ugly story out into the soft light.
But Leia didn't speak scumbag. "So go pay him and come back –" she began.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Han took a long, fortifying swig, for patience. It tasted like syrup and dust. "Because I'm not in the kind of business you can walk away from. I told you, this is the fastest ship in the galaxy. Especially when I'm flying her. He wants us both working for him, and if he can't have me he'll take her. When I go pay him, he'll ask me to do another job. If I say no, he'll put that bounty right back on me."
Leia didn't look convinced. "It's complicated," he added, flashing her a hard smile. She brought her bottle back up to her lips and sipped thoughtfully, tipping her chin up to catch the last drops. Red dust had settled on her hair, and the rosy glow of the hangar felt like a bubble around them.
"Plus, I got a Wookie to feed." He'd be damned if he let her keep talking about Jabba. "You know how much the furball eats? The Alliance can't afford that. This life debt business is a racket."
"Life debt?" The princess swayed slightly on her feet, as though shaken by the weight of such a concept. She reached a small hand out against the side of his ship to steady herself. Was she drunk? Off one beer? Her eyes were shining as she gazed up at him, Han noted, and her cheeks were tinged with a flush. The hazards of being tiny, he supposed. Pretty, though.
"That's what he says. I didn't ask for any of it. You alright? Here, have a seat." He pointed to the haphazard stack of crates besides them. She climbed up carefully, accepting his proffered hand, and arranged her limbs into a rather graceful perch. The added height brought her almost to his level. He took a step closer.
Drunk or not, Leia wasn't finished. "Everyone here has a price on their heads," she declared. "Only it's not some mobster after us, it's the Emperor. Wouldn't you rather serve a greater cause than live and die for the spice trade?" Han snorted, but she pressed on. "You're risking your life either way. Don't you want it to have mattered?"
She had that look now: the one he'd seen on her when she argued with the other members of High Command, and she knew she'd scored a point. Like she was trying not to savor it. Han decided he didn't mind. She didn't usually talk to him for this long, or get this animated. Maybe that was promising.
"Well, sure, but if I die I'll be dead, so then I won't care either way," he replied absently, watching her dark lashes flutter.
Leia laughed at that, a surprised laugh that caught them both off-guard. Her eyes didn't leave his as her expression burst open, and Han felt a thrill somewhere in his chest, like his first time cracking a safe. He'd heard her laugh before – the crazed, terrified relief when the garbage chute stopped crushing them and the vengeful glee after the Death Star exploded – but those times were different. This laugh was sweet, and it pulled him in like gravity.
"Oh, you like that? I got more," Han heard himself saying. He rested an arm on the metal siding above her head. "Why don't you come up for a real drink? I'll read you my Corellian joke book. I'll give you the good stuff, the whiskey I don't let the Kid touch."
Leia chuckled and held his gaze for another beat, then hopped off the crates. A smile still played on her pert lips as she tilted her head up to appraise his ship. Is she - ? Han's pulse jumped. She ran a slim finger along a seam in the hull plating, and he felt it on his skin, sending a hot shiver running through him. He stared, electrified, as her large eyes followed the seam all the way to the cockpit. Really? No way! Does she –
She turned those eyes back to him. "No thank you, Captain. I don't drink whiskey." He opened his mouth to protest, but she was quicker. "We appreciate you taking the supply mission. I'll see you when you get back."
And with the last curve of a smile, the princess cut him adrift.
Han watched her cross the hangar and disappear through the doors to the barracks, then looked down at his empty cup. He could re-join the festivities – see if he couldn't pick something up there and put out what she'd started, since he wouldn't fall asleep now anyway. He'd spotted a handful of other pretty faces over the past few nights, though he had yet to put the moves on any of them. It would be easy. But those girls were off-putting to him somehow, even the nice-looking ones. Rebellious types. The kind who thought they were so valiant for running away from home and joining the underground. Casting off everything his type had stopped dreaming about as kids: the families who feared for them, the empty beds. One of them had draped herself over his shoulder earlier and purred about feeling more alive than ever, and it had irked him.
Leia had many irritating qualities, but Han gave credit where it was due. She'd spent her whole life fighting this fight, from what he'd gleaned about Alderaan's royal family and their propensity for sedition. Weren't rich parents supposed to protect their kids? These nobles had groomed their only daughter for revolution, then tossed her right into Vader's maw. Something wasn't right there, he thought, but he couldn't fault her for doubling down now. She had nothing to go back to, and he understood revenge.
Han suddenly felt tired.
No, it was better not to try anything tonight. He was leaving soon anyway. Clean exit, he reminded himself, and tossed his cup into one of the open crates.
XX
