The Legion Renewed
Chapter Twenty-One
The days passed in a whirlwind of political activity: rallies and speeches and meetings and interviews and luncheons and dinners and hand-shaking and small-talk and a million and one other things Han had been entirely clueless about. Han stood by as the silent partner, hating every minute of it, all the stupid political niceties, and being bored to tears. He had no stomach for any of it.
Leia, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease in all of it.
The only thing that had her worried was an upcoming debate with her chief rival who, she told Han, had a way of hitting his opponent from out of the blue with some piece of muck or scandal or political curveball.
Leia knew that as far as scandals went, her record was squeaky clean. But her opponent, the incumbant Senator Bragma, had a reputation for dragging "squeaky clean" reputations through the muck.
The point where Han had finally had enough was at a luncheon where Leia had tried to whisper to Han which fork to use to eat his streen. Han had slowly set his fork down, drew in a deep breath, and muttered, "I'm going back to the Falcon," folded his napkin neatly, and stood up and left.
As he was leaving, he heard Leia make up some excuse for his absence.
And that was that.
She had chosen the luncheon over him, and that was all he needed to know.