This is actually a fanfiction I started writing just for myself years ago, I think even before The Last Jedi, so any canon after The Force Awakens is just ignored here. In (late) honor of Star Wars Day, I've decided to randomly post it because why not. There are quite a bit of space politics, sorry if that isn't your cup of tea. This is also heavily influenced by Star Wars: Bloodline, so a lot of terminology comes directly from that book. (There is also a character who shares a name with one from my fic Critical Mass. They are not the same characters. I stole the name from this story for Critical Mass - I'm just too lazy to change it)
If you choose to read, I hope you enjoy it.
It all started with a dream, and a man determined to keep it from coming true…
33 ABY
The Lower District
Republic City
Hosnian Prime
The locals called the area Bottom View. Much like its sister-planet, Coruscant, the lower one sank through the levels of Hosnian Prime, the more dangerous and decrepit things became. Bottom View was the last rung before the planet surface, with only an obscure view of the stars if the power grid failed, and if you happened to possess a pair of macrobinoculars, but the inhabitants prided themselves on what height they had achieved in the cityscape.
If the fall can kill you, you're doing alright.
It was a phrase commonly murmured by the residents, one Prax Edo had heard his entire life. His father had used it as a sort of daily mantra, until he had succumbed to a respiratory disease, one often found in areas that lacked proper air circulation while having an abundance of chemical output. That was essentially anything under the Middle District, which was a good fifty stories over their heads.
Needless to say, the Rodian had become quite the pessimist.
His young life was filled with half-baked, get rich quick schemes, most of which resulted in barely breaking even. The rest left him in debt to people who stopped bothering to climb the ladder and still ended up better off than him. At times, he was almost tempted to follow his brother, who had stowed away on a ship bound for the Outer Rim. Prax had never heard back from him, but whatever happened was bound to be better than his existence in Bottom View. Even the prisons on Hosnian Prime were higher up than he was now.
Prax took a swig from his drink. It burned a trail down his throat and tasted something awful, but he needed the liquid courage. He was staring at a plan that could set him up for life, if he played his cards correctly.
The man who sat across from him worked for a politician of some sort, or perhaps just a very rich man. Either way, it was clear neither individual knew anything of slum life. His clothes consisted of what any rich man would assume was the garb of the poor (namely a cheap tunic and the galaxy's most conspicuous hooded jacket), minus, of course, any holes, mysterious stains, or suspicious smells. And those things were the whole point really. No one trusted a clean man, not this close to the surface, but they also knew better than to ignore what he offered.
The lowest of the low took on all sorts of jobs to keep their lives afloat, from day to day commissions that brought hard manual labor and little pay to high-risk/high reward missions that would result in either incarceration or death if failed. The latter was the particular idea this rich man was pitching to Prax, or at least he was trying to.
"Speak up, would you?" Prax more or less shouted at the man. "No need to worry about prying ears here."
They were seated at a corner booth in the local nightclub, aptly named Ataxia, overlooking the throng that crowded the dance floor. The sound was best described as tangible, which was a fancy word that told Prax that if he hadn't gone deaf yet, he may never lose his hearing. As such, it was the perfect environment for the business's other purpose.
Encircling the dance floor were multiple tables hidden in dark corners, much like their own, where beings clustered together to talk of trade and contracts, the flow of spice, illegal betting grounds, and other less than savory topics. The Senate had its gathering place, the Underground its own.
"My employer has a competitor who has exceeded her boundaries for far too long," the man repeated, though he hardly raised his voice any higher. "She needs to be reminded of the working order of things."
Intimidation. He'd tagged along on a few jobs like that before. The really good ones were meticulous in their efforts. They preferred psychological damage, using techniques that still made Prax squirm. He wasn't as well practiced in the art of coercion. Clearly his client was of the stingy variety if he was coming to him for this rather than the others. Still, stingy to him was a lot of money to the poor Rodian, whose rent was two months late.
The man, whose features he'd never quite been able to make out under the hood, slid a datapad toward him. Prax noted how he did his best not to make skin contact with any surface in the club. He was half tempted to spit on the clean hand presented with the datapad, but thought better of it. What was the phrase? Don't spit on the hand that feeds you?
Prax took in the image before him. It was of a woman, young, perhaps pretty by human standards, with dark hair and light eyes. She hardly looked old enough to have made much difference in the universe, much less garner the anger of well-funded individuals. Still, something about her felt familiar, which said something this far down.
"I assume the compensation is to your satisfaction?"
The Rodian read the number just below her face. He suppressed a noise in his throat. "Very."
Suddenly, the table shook.
Prax looked up from the datapad to see a crossed pair of boots sitting in front of him, attached to a lounging woman who looked oddly like the picture he had just been staring at. His client, he noted, had gone white as a sheet.
"Funny, the people you run into in unexpected places," the woman said, sinking deep into the cushions of the booth. "It's Darek, right? Senator Prost's aide."
Prax blinked. He looked the woman over again, a picture of calm amid the chaos of Ataxia, with her feet on the table and an arm outstretched to the side, nearly reaching him (unlike Darek who was nervously looking around the room and pulling his hood even tighter). She sported a short, brown jacket, which did nothing to conceal the blaster at her hip. A hand in fingerless gloves rested on it, not taut, but prepared nonetheless.
This was who his client was worried about? She looked better suited to a life in Bottom View than any place a richer person would be found. Was she a jilted lover? Illegitimate daughter? Maybe she had some blackmail on him.
"What brings you so far down, Darek? This place certainly isn't the kind of nightlife you're used to."
"The same could be said about you, Senator," Darek managed to squeak out. "If word got out, it wouldn't bode very well for you."
Wait, did he say senator?
"I wouldn't know why," the woman replied, waving down a serving droid. Moments later, three shots of some greenish liquid sat on the table. "I'm just enjoying a drink and a song."
She took the shot, placing the empty glass upside down. "Aren't you?"
His client eyed the drink for a half a second before turning his nose up at it. The woman chuckled, taking the glass for herself.
"Maybe your friend will be a little more conversational." She turned to Prax, though not before eying his own untouched drink. "Elara Organa-Solo, by the way. And you are?"
In over my head.
Now Prax knew where he had seen her face before. Even in the outskirts of society, most people knew the name, and now Darek's mention of senator made sense. She was a more outspoken politician, who was either loved or hated, never quite tolerated. Her family was chock full of Rebellion heroes, until the tree branch reached her grandfather. His father had spoken of terrifying acts that belonged solely to Darth Vader, things even an army could not accomplish. The fact that this beaming, young woman sitting next to him was related to that monster was downright unnerving.
"No one important," Prax finally answered, standing. The aide looked pleadingly at him. He wasn't sure why. He hadn't been hired for protection, or suicide either.
"Don't be like that. Stay." The senator casually waved her hand. "I think you want to tell me why Darek was talking with you."
Suddenly, all urges to leave stopped, and Prax sat back down as if he had wanted to all along. He wanted to tell her everything. She was a friend, a confidant, and he could not resist her beckoning. "He wanted me to intimidate you. His words implied by physical force."
Elara raised an eyebrow, turning her gaze to the aide who had somehow remained rooted to the spot, and looked even paler for it. "Definitely not enjoying a drink, then."
She lifted her boots from the table, leaning forward on both arms to look Darek in the eye. "Is that the kind of game the Senate plays now? Disagree with someone and get beat up for it?"
"Senator Prost doesn't think you can be reasoned with," the aide finally said, though it sounded more like a whisper.
The woman scoffed. "That's a lot coming from a man whose first line of defense equates to plugging his ears and chanting about not listening."
There was a pregnant pause. From Prax's seat, he could see Elara playing with the blaster, deciding. He wanted to get up again, to run and never come back to this forsaken establishment, maybe just run to the next cruiser destined for anywhere other than the system he was on. But he was frozen to the spot, concerned that any movement on his part might also trigger her.
"Tell me, Darek, do you know why Ataxia is the place to come to for hiring shady characters?"
When the aide shook his head, Elara drew her blaster. She aimed at no one, didn't even put her finger near the trigger well, placing it on the table instead. Prax felt like she had shot him in the chest anyway, the way his heart skipped a beat. And though Ataxia continued to move to the beat of the current dance song, all around eyes were watching.
"Do you see all these tables around us? They aren't filled with ordinary patrons; they are the scum of the universe, the kind that people like you and Prost shake your heads at, the kind everyone says will amount to nothing more than unintelligent drivel at the wasted bottom of the galaxy." She waited, letting Darek glance around the space with a keener eye. "You're in the middle of their territory now. Tell me, does it feel like nothing?"
Prax knew it didn't to him. Rich men could shake their heads at gangsters all they wanted, but when they were at the wrong end of the blaster, all their status meant nothing.
"Ataxia is what some would call neutral territory. So, not only are all these people criminals, they're also rivals. Which means, with one wrong move-" She made a trigger pulling motion with a free hand, her wrist slowly arching back from the pretend kick. "-this entire place will light up like New Republic Day on spice, but I'm sure Prost was well aware of that before he sent you down here to do his dirty work."
Darek gulped. "Yes, I'm…sure he was."
There was a moment of silence, or whatever qualified as that in Ataxia. No one at the table moved, they all eyed the blaster. Prax wondered how far he could get before the crazy human got them all killed.
Then Elara holstered the weapon, and there was a collective sigh of relief.
"Your view of the galaxy doesn't work in reality. I suggest you tell your boss to stick to his playing field. He's not going to beat me in mine."
As if some invisible string had been cut, the aide immediately fled the area, chased out by rough music and hoarse laughter from the other tables. Prax watched him go, the emptiness of his wallet weighing more than all the credits in the world.
"Sorry for the trouble," Elara said suddenly, downing his drink. "I'm not a fan of it, but some things can't be helped."
She left then, disappearing into the crowd as if she had not been there in the first place.
New Republic Senatorial Complex
Republic City
Hosnian Prime
The room was a cacophony of languages, binary, and the occasional whoops of a politician whose point had been made. The bowl-shaped assembly, resembling the old senate with its deep build and endless rows of viewing platforms, only aided the chaos presented to the viewer. With that, many delegates found privacy in the din.
But in the midst of the commotion, nestled with the repulsorpods from the Ash Worlds of the Outer Rim, Elara heard it all. She took her time, using the Force to gently probe the conversations surrounding her, no more than a sentence or two at once, enough to gauge the topic of discussion. Most were trivial: family concerns, which systems distilled the best drink, none of the dramatic overtures that the space had grown accustomed to housing, and, more importantly, no mention of the growing threat that lingered in the Unknown Regions.
Pursing her lips, Elara leaned back, allowing the clear conversations to meld into a droning buzz once more.
It was growing worse. The Senate not formally acknowledging the First Order as, at the very least, a subject of interest was one thing, to disregard it completely was another. It was a battle she had been losing from day one, ever since she had taken her mother's vacated seat four years ago. Many of her fellow politicians still saw her as a young child looking for emotional leverage, while others saw a warmonger hoping for vengeance for a home she had never seen. Of course, what they all saw, to varying extents, was Darth Vader. That was an image she had given up trying to shake. Ever since the provocative reveal in that very room nearly five years prior, it was hard to ignore for anyone. There had been no gentle easing of the truth. The bandage had been yanked off before the galaxy, taking skin and bone with it.
She had been with her father at the time, out on the race circuit, finding herself in a galaxy full of possibility. Han Solo had never been one to look ashamed, even his greatest mistakes he defended proudly, but to see the look on his face when his daughter heard the family's darkest secret over the holonet, she might have sworn he was a different man.
"Disappointed, are we?"
Remembering her place, Elara's hazel eyes shot across the pod to where Kaid Dexshi reclined, an annoying grin plastered on his face. The senator from Eredenn Prime (and benefactor of her home system of New Alderaan) was an older gentleman, though no less handsome for it. His graying hair was still cut to Republic Navy standards and his skin tone reflected a lifestyle of a constant outdoorsman rather than the cushy indoor life the average politician led. He was fit (more so than most men half his age) and he was cocky as hell. Most days Elara wasn't sure if she liked or hated him. Some days she simply wanted to toss him out of the pod.
It was a complicated relationship, to say the least.
"If I say no, would you stop looking so pleased?" Elara sat up, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed in the light blue fabric of her dress, a traditional Alderaanian garb she had been told, but there was so little culture left from her mother's homeworld, it might have been made up and she would never know any different. "Surely you're not going to tell me we're all here to witness the failure of another vote regarding the First Order?"
The senator chuckled. "No need to worry, Elara. My entertainment at your expense is borderline cruelty at this point. I'll not be the senator who violated the Galactic Concordance because of a woman."
Elara sneered. "Then what horrible thing has put you in such a good mood this morning?"
Kaid's smile only grew as he moved to sit next to her, breath hot on her ear as he whispered. "Just be patient and pay attention. I promise you'll enjoy it."
She barely repressed the urge to roll her eyes. Toss him from the pod it was.
After a few minutes passed with scarcely a change in the atmosphere, Elara was beginning to think she'd been had. It was not something she would have put past Kaid, although she had hoped he respected her enough to play such tricks in private.
Then the air shifted. Fear, anticipation, despair. Gasps and angry shouts brought her attention upward, where four Senatorial guards surrounded Senator Prost himself in his repulsorpod. Darek, she noted, was nowhere to be found.
The entire Senate watched as the man was arrested and taken away, before erupting in conversation and arguments. Her pod's screen lit up as various politicians vied for the first chance to speak.
Elara dared to look at Kaid, whose ego would be unbearable for the next month or so. "What did you do?"
"Senator Prost has a terrible spending habit, and even worse encryption on his accounts. A hint here, a nudge there, and suddenly the Internal Investigation Committee has the answer to all the missing money from public spending accounts."
"And what, may I ask, inspired you to even look into his spending?" Elara asked, scooting back on her seat so that there was respectable 'working room' between them. "Last I checked, you accused Prost of being worth about as much of your time as a five year old on a temper tantrum. You said a man that loud can't have anything worth looking into."
Kaid shrugged. "I got a tip. Some underappreciated aide talking about how there were things I'd probably like to look into."
Elara had to smile at that. Perhaps things the previous night had not as been as bad as she thought.
Her colleague noticed the look on her face. "I had a feeling you might have had something to do with it. I wish you'd stop taking things into your own hands. Getting involved in the crime world will eventually do more harm than good."
She managed to look sheepish. "You heard."
"Heard?" Kaid practically laughed. "A Centrist damn near cackled after relaying the story to me. You're on thin ice around here as it is, Elara. You shouldn't push your luck."
"So, you'd have me sit back and let these people play their little games with me?" Elara asked, ignoring how loud her voice got. "I wasn't in Bottom View to cause trouble, but to prevent it. Prost was about to hire goons to attack me, for pity's sake."
Kaid put a hand on Elara's shoulder, leaning closer, urging her to quiet. "You and I both know you have nothing to fear on that front, and I suggest you try harder to keep it between us. The aide was easy to bribe, but once word gets out about your abilities, no amount of money will keep the Senate from forcing you into self-exile like your mother."
Elara took a deep breath, calming. Few people in her life knew about her Force sensitivity, fewer still her training. It was what managed to keep her afloat in a political environment that wanted nothing more than to be rid of her. She was, technically, an innocent in the disaster that was her family, but not many would be willing to forgive her wielding of the Force, not with Darth Vader's memory still haunting their steps.
There had been days when she wondered if she had not been cursed.
"We have to play the long game here," the senator continued. "It's the only way to get anything done."
"We don't have that kind of time, Kaid," she murmured. "The Resistance encounters stronger First Order opposition on every mission, and they haven't even seen the bulk of their forces."
At that, her colleague frowned, looking very much his age at that moment. "You may be right there, Elara. When the aide said there was something I'd like, he wasn't wrong. Prost's spending only appears frivolous on the outside. Most of the accounts can't be traced when you look deeper into them."
"The Unknown Regions," Elara added quietly, multiple ideas trying to overtake her train of thought at once.
"Precisely," Kaid replied with a nod. "And if all this money went to them from one man, how much funding do you think a corrupted Senate could bring the First Order?"
The last time Leia had visited the complex, she hadn't been entirely welcome. The Resistance was still in its early stages, back when the First Order was only a dark whisper with no name. She had appeared as nothing more than a traitor, a Separatist, who sought to plunge the galaxy back into civil war. Still, they had grudgingly allowed her to attend the induction ceremony. She was, after all, still royalty, and it was her daughter taking her turn at the political wheel.
There had been a lot of whispers, many shouts, and one man had dared to toss his drink at her, but she had stood tall and proud. Angry opposition was something she was used to.
Or welcomed, as Han put it.
But now the times were different. The dark whispers had a name and while the Senate may have been entirely too slow to act against them, it was obvious that many individuals saw the Resistance in a new light. It was an appreciation of sorts, but for their sacrifice or distraction, she could not say.
Her office had changed, she noted. It had nearly been barren when she occupied it. Her nose was always stuck in datapads so the bare walls never had time to bother her. She'd had a few trinkets, though, pieces of home that had survived, gifts from friends, and a few family possessions, enough to appear that she cared for something other than her politics.
Elara's decorative take was…well, she wouldn't say cluttered, but it clearly had her daughter's touch.
Schematics lined the walls, from ships and podracers to small droids and thermal devices. In the center of the room sat a model of the Millennium Falcon, before Lando ruined it according to both father and daughter. There were also little holos sitting on shelves, which when approached produced images of other famous rebellion fighters, including Wedge Antilles' T-65B X-Wing and Shuttle Tydirium.
That was the one she found herself staring at when Elara entered, her aide jogging behind her with an armful of datapads.
"This one contains the regulations of the proposed trade routes to the Outer Rim, as part of the New Republic Outreach Program."
"Let me guess, high tariffs on the participating systems to counter the 'risk insurance-'" Elara said without looking at the aide, a girl of maybe eighteen with intricately braided blonde hair. She crossed to her desk and picked up something from the floor behind it. An engine component, it looked like. Leia smiled. "-and import taxes that render the products virtually unaffordable in Republic space, because they're 'hard to procure.'"
"And that will be going in the 'nay' pile." The aide put down one datapad, shuffling through the others.
Elara tinkered with the part, shifting pieces Leia could hardly see. "Senator Khardeen heads the Outreach Committee, yes?"
Her aide didn't miss a step, not looking up either. "I believe last month we agreed he was the committee."
"Right, right," her daughter replied, moving to the window, a pensive look on her face.
Leia knew little about Malastare's new senator, only that he held a grudge against Dugs and was not the kind to play nice, as their conversation suggested.
"The Grand Prix is coming up," Elara blurted suddenly. "No elected official would dare be caught not attending the podrace. Arrange for passes. I think a private chat with my colleague is needed."
The aide tapped one of the datapads a few times.
Hearing her daughter play out the game Leia had once been so adept at left a familiar ache in her chest. She truly missed politics, but even when their current crisis ended, Leia knew there would be no going back; she was tainted, and the Senate was tainted for her. There was too much hurt, and far too many things had been broken, but it was good to see someone still upholding some sort of standard, even if she was viewing it from the skewed perspective of a proud mother. Although she had heard Elara was a bit more of a brute than she had ever been. She had Han to thank for that. Chewie, too, no doubt.
"Oh, and you have a visitor," the aide said, so matter-of-factly, Leia almost missed the underlying joke.
Two sets of eyes turned to her.
"And here I thought Kaid had bought me another joke statue." Elara smiled. "Hi, mom."
It was such a simple sentence, but in person and free of the static of intergalactic communication, it was enough to tug at her heart.
Elara looked a lot like her, Leia noted, with her dress in the simple style that had defined Alderaanian humility and her hair wrapped in a braid that hung over her shoulder. It did not need to be pinned; it was nowhere near as long as hers had been or even was now. Her daughter hated excess hair, but she still respected tradition.
Her eyes, though, were all Han's, that hazel color that had the strange ability to light up or darken depending on her mood. The former did not happen as much anymore; the latter too much.
"You look busy," Leia finally said, wondering why 'hello' was so hard.
Her smile was rueful. "Says the woman juggling the entire not-so-legal resistance movement." She turned to the aide. "Go home, Kari. Tell your father happy birthday for me."
The young woman grinned, bowing her head quickly before exiting the office.
"She knows you well," Leia observed, watching the doorway.
"I'm pretty sure she is at least two steps ahead of me at all times," Elara admitted, collapsing in her chair. Gone was the regal politician of New Alderaan, replaced by a twenty-six-year-old Corellian who had better things to do than talk to her mother. "What brings you back to Hosnian Prime?"
"Recruitment, actually. The recent skirmish on the border left quite a few disillusioned pilots. They reached out and we answered." Leia paused. "Not that I'm telling you any of this."
Elara put the engine piece on her desk and shrugged. "It doesn't make much difference. The Senate is no closer to taking any legal action on the Resistance than they are to the First Order. Chancellor Villecham's afraid if the Senate makes a move on me, they'll have to do the same for the other side, and so on and so forth. I think the term mutually assured destruction comes into play somewhere, so as of right now, it's a standoff."
Leia snorted. It was that same inability to make any movement that had contributed to her desire to leave in the first place.
"Although, Kaid did get Senator Prost arrested," Elara added, "But I doubt even that is enough to cause a ripple. Even among Centrists, he isn't the most popular."
"Senator Dexshi arranged that?" Leia asked. She never had liked the man much, nor did she appreciate Elara's informal address of him.
Her daughter had a knowing look.
"Kaid is a frustrating laserbrain, but he is also useful, more so than anyone else. Populists are appeasers now."
No doubt my fault too, Leia thought.
A silence fell between them. It was a more common occurrence than Leia liked. Things had changed between them, but so much had happened too, things that neither liked to discuss, but Leia knew the rift had started when word that Vader was Elara's grandfather had reached her ears, and not from her own mother. Han had taken a hit as well, but in the end, it was not his secret to tell, only her own. She could not help but imagine how much easier things might have gone if she had just told her children. Elara might be more willing to open up to the past events, and Ben…
The office doors hissed.
Poe Dameron stepped through the threshold, looking like quite the respectable pilot in his new Resistance uniform, though she could tell he had been tugging at the collar. The boy would never know it, but he had just saved her.
"Pardon the interruption, General. We just got a message from base and I figured you'd want to hear it in person."
He paused then, catching the eyes of her daughter, who had since stood up. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. They just stared at one another, neither moving nor breathing as far as she could tell.
Then Elara's face split into a large grin, the likes of which Leia had not seen in an age. "Dameron."
His smile matched hers. "Solo."
"Afraid it's Organa-Solo here," Elara replied, gesturing to her dress. "Reminding the politicians you're technically royalty tends to help."
"And I'm sure you enjoy doing that."
Leia watched the exchange, a complete outsider. She had no idea they even knew the other existed (particularly on Elara's part), much less had enough of a relationship to share inside jokes. Back in the early days of the Empire's collapse, Leia had worked with his mother, and through old war stories, she knew Han had fought alongside his father, but they had not seen either Dameron since then, not after they had moved to Yavin 4. From what she recalled, Poe's mother had actually passed years ago.
Elara was giving Poe an exasperated look, but her smile had yet to fade. Leia felt her heart sink. In the mere seconds he had been in the office, Poe had elicited more emotion from her daughter than Leia had in years.
"As far as I'm concerned, Poe, you're still the only person worth bossing around."
The commander chuckled. "I can accept that."
Leia finally found her voice. "I guess it's not too much to assume the two of you know each other."
She saw reality dawn in her daughter's eyes, their hues darkening. "Oh, oh, sorry, I didn't mean to just – Poe spent a season with us…on Dantooine."
If Poe noticed the change in tone, he did not show it. It was the first time Elara had even mentioned the planet without immediately shrinking.
Leia turned to Poe, her curiosity overtaking the sadness blooming inside. "I didn't know you were Force sensitive."
The pilot shrugged, looking oddly uncomfortable in the spotlight. "Hardly Force sensitive is more like it. What was it your brother used to say? Enough to notice, but not enough to care?"
Had the room always been so cold?
Elara started to trace images on her desk with her fingertips. Now she looked small again, the young woman who had seen too much. Her hair had been much shorter then and her lightsaber had hung from her hip, a blue blade that matched the open sky. It had been so quiet, and yet hardly peaceful…
"Did I say something wrong?"
Leia jumped. "No, no, Poe, you didn't. We just haven't seen Ben in a long time is all."
Her daughter's face snapped up so quickly, Leia thought she heard her neck crack. She would be answering for that later, hopefully over a long distance comm that gave her the option to walk away from it.
Because that would help repair their relationship.
"Well," Elara started, interrupting the thick silence that had fallen…again. "If the two of you don't mind, I will be taking off for the evening. I had a long night, an equally long day, and want nothing more than to be in something with pant legs."
She picked up a datapad, the 'nay' pile one, and headed for the doorway. Leia figured she would run if she could.
"Feel free to use the space as long as you like. It's not bugged as far as I know." She paused, hand resting on the control, before turning back. "It was good seeing you again, Poe."
And then she was gone.
General and commander stood alone, both staring after her, quiet and lost in thought.
Poe was the one who started. "I'm sorry, General. I shouldn't have barged in like that. I clearly interrupt-"
Leia held up a hand. "It's alright, Poe. You made her smile. That's more than anyone else can do."
Myself included.