a/n: part 2; 7 scenes !


Part 2:

Intermediate Backlash

6 ABY


Bail Organa was no stranger to intergalactic unrest. Having come of age during the tumultuous era that preceded the outbreak of actual civil war, governing during that war, and subsequently having cultivated an insurgency under the nose of the tyranny that emerged from the ashes of that very same war, he was well versed in how to navigate precarious politics.

He faced the harsh discord produced by his daughter's revelation with grace, and he faced it relatively well. He was rattled, in the most predictable of ways, by the vitriol directed at her by some – curiously, unexpectedly vindictive, in some cases, as if certain allies had been waiting to see her fall – he was heartened by the support of others. Overall, he was properly fortified for the current climate; perhaps, along with Leia, he was the most prepared for the onslaught. He knew politics, and more importantly, he knew Coruscant, power politics, having been in the heart of them for most of his life. Throughout all of the prep they had gone through, all of the hypothetical situations, and crafting of potential statements – and in spite of the deeply personal pain of watching his daughter, and his and her whole families, brace against this, and suffer – he had known he would prefer it to bloodshed and outright battle.

In the depths of his heart, and in the roots of his very being, he was first and foremost a pacifist; Alderaanian to the core, he fiercely believed that if they could just get through this – and get through this they would – any possible relapses into war would become even more remote; transparency, as Leia had originally said, would engender even more stability – and she and her former rebels would hold the peace, and hand off an even greater, lasting peace to the next generation.

He believed in that – he believed in his daughter, and to an extent – he believed in sentient beings, of all kinds, because if life was truly as selfish, hostile, and brutish as the more pessimistic of philosophers claimed, it would have wiped itself out long before complex societies had taken hold.

Ah, and yet – though he intellectually believed in greater goods, and the propensity for progress, and though he stood strong and stoic against the oncoming storm – he did, still, give himself time, in the more private moments, to be disheartened, and angry.

He had, as Leia had, prepared for the worst, and been resigned to it; perhaps more so than her, he had hoped it would all mean nothing to those who had seen her fight –

But the body politic was a faithful foe, and it raged.

Long-lived and experienced as he was – there were moments, and a frightening abundance of moments, at that – during which Bail felt useless; during which a troublesome weight of helplessness descended upon him. He was the Viceroy of Alderaan, an enduring elder of one of the most trusted, virtuous royal houses the galaxy had ever recognized – his culture had been renowned for honesty, respected for its ethics and good nature, and he had felt that surely – surely that would colour the public's reaction to Leia's heritage.

Heritage – and such a meaningless thing, at that, at the end of the day – Bail's stomach twisted angrily, miserably, when they mentioned Vader as Leia's father, not only because he knew it was meant as a dig at her, but because that old, withering Sith had never been her father; not even Anakin Skywalker qualified as her father – he had not caught her when she took her first steps, comforted her when the world was cruel – it baffled Bail, as much as it angered him, that in the snap of a finger, Leia was being stripped of her connection to Alderaan in the Organas in the eyes of the Media and the influential political elite.

She was Aldera educated; she was Antilles and Organa and Alderaan raised – and even if they suddenly refused to acknowledge that, she was the blood relative of Padmé Naberrie, one of Naboo's most beloved queens! Incredible how easily and how cruelly that aspect of the revelation was shunted to the side – even more sinister was how they dared try to blacken the Naberrie name because of it.

Bail was overwhelmed not with the uproar, but with the willingness that suddenly existed to saddle Leia with Vader's crimes, with Imperial crimes, to ignore the people who stood around her – Alderaanians, members of the Rebellion who knew her motives and had been led by her – and instead concoct conspiracy theories and decide she was a sinister figure, not to be trusted –

In a curious way, the adamant desire many beings seemed to have to link Leia forever with Vader dismantled any subtle, subconscious biases the Viceroy ever harbored when it came to class, family – bloodlines, and heritage, that persistent word – he found himself realizing, to the full extent, how frustrating his inherent elitism must have seemed back when he was incensed at the idea of a daughter of his house, his royal family, married to a smuggler –

And now, all he could think was – how could any of that ever have mattered at all, when he treats her so well? – the same as he watched the Media circus unfold and silently asked – how does disgraced, dead Vader matter at all when Leia was never taught by him, never raised by him, didn't know about him – when it is the chosen family, and the self-elected path, that matters in life – rather than predetermination, or the harmful notion that nature rules character?

He contemplated how powerless he was in this new world order – not in an ambitious, or bitter manner, but because he lacked the agency to help where he wanted to – he felt more and more like a relic, sage and safe, but possessed of the wrong sort of wisdom for the age – his brand of wisdom had died with the decaying Old Republic. It wasn't worth listening to because it had not saved them then – and the galaxy was different now –

Often, with a wry smile, Bail wondered if this was how Yoda had felt, all those lonely years hiding and brooding on Dagobah, waiting for his final padawan.

He had anticipated himself bursting back into prominence, bearing the brunt of this backlash for Leia, because he had raised her into it without her consent, and without her knowledge; she had only been enlightened at the end, while the years of deception were his sin and his alone – but he was quickly disabused of that notion.

The galaxy cared about the now, not the then – and Leia was in power now, while Bail was a figurehead, a fading leader of a lost planet.

No matter how many statements he made, no matter how hard he tried to reign in the criticism and spite and direct it at himself, questions instead went to her – had she lied, had Alderaan always been in league with the Empire – could she be trusted now, what other ruses lie in store – would she and Luke bind the galaxy in a chokehold that continued their father's legacy?

It all led Bail to reflect – what could he have done differently, if anything? Was Ruwee Naberrie right – should he have taken Leia to Naboo, surrendered her to blood relatives as Obi-Wan had done with Luke? Would she have never faced this – but that led to the question of whether she'd have survived at all, a mysterious newborn suddenly taken in by Padmé's family – and if she had, Yoda and Ben would have gone forth with their plans, and Leia, somehow, would have been drawn in –

No matter how he worked it, Bail saw no alternative that would have left Luke and Leia in a life of obscurity, not when there had been living people who knew of their birth, not with the blood that ran in their veins, the sensitivity that answered to something greater – he concluded, in each scenario, that there were different paths to the same end - but the end remained.

Bail's time spent in quiet, pained abstract silence increased as the days tumbled on into weeks, and everything seemed to be coming to an apex – slow, shocked reactions had morphed into political maneuvering, conspiracy theories that had been half-baked were now full-fledged and in many cases, jeopardizing– and Leia's political career was figuratively and literally on trial – her career was threatened, her life itself was threatened.

Hosting her in his home now, these past two weeks – and for the unspecified future – he was not even able to enjoy it. On the advice of her security team and even a legal advisor, Leia had temporarily moved to the Embassy until things settled and there was absolute certainty that her home was uncompromised – one thing Bail had been right about was Han's reaction to the suggestion; the moment he was told Leia's life had been subjected to a credible threat, he had all but packed her things for her and delivered her to the Embassy doorstep, Chewbacca on her heels.

It was one of the many things recently Bail was grateful to Han for – he had not a word of complaint for staying at the Embassy with her while things were figured out. He harassed Rouge and did his best to irritate his father-in-law, but for the most part – aside from that violent hiccup in the beginning – Han made so many things easier on Leia.

And – if Bail were asked, he'd say that Han's actions were justified, when he assaulted the Black Sun gang member who had stalked him home one day – and Bail had said as much, though diplomatically, and to the chagrin of a few who decided to call it a symptom of Alderaan's shift towards brute violence – engendered by their bastard Princess.

Lost in his reverie, Bail looked forward at the flickering holo mounted on the wall of Embassy living quarter's spacious study. The device was sectioned into four separate channels, all running simultaneously as Leia, curled in a stiff ball across the room, paid rapt attention to the news monologues – Bail alternated between watching her, watching the strangers on screen, and fading into his head, tiredly asking himself when it would be over.

It was unnerving to have Leia home at all hours, home during the day – had Alderaan survived, had she married a fellow member of the elder houses, Leia would have never moved out of the palace back in Aldera – when home on planet, she'd have stayed there, her ancestral home – and so there should be no strangeness to sharing a palatial place with her here on Coruscant – but the drastic changes in tradition since the war, coupled with Leia's suddenly empty schedule, made all of it seem eerie, seem –

Cataclysmic.

Leia's activities had come to a screeching halt since she had boldly decided to allow for a federal inquiry, to lay bare that she had nothing to hide – and that inquiry was coming to a close; Leia was home, absorbed in watching coverage of everything under the stars, going on her seventh day of being barred from her office, and any political involvement.

Mon Mothma had made no move to silence demands that Leia be at least sanctioned, if not removed – and Leia had pre-empted a second to a motion to suspend her by acquiescing to the inquiry, elegantly nixing the attempt to take her out of power in one fell swoop.

It was – strong, as she always was, but Bail watched it take its toll on her – that, along with her lack of safety in her home, along with Han's stress, Luke's stress, and the personal attacks – he knew she was angry; he knew she was getting restless, indignant, and he was wary of how it all might turn out.

Rouge came into the room, her face pinched and drawn – the toll this had taken on her was visible on her face; her eyes were red, her lips always parched – she struggled with a fundamental loss of faith in the goodness of people, and while Bail had never known his sister to be particularly naïve, she had always been rather easily shocked.

"Are we watching this drivel?" Rouge asked tightly, standing behind the sofa Leia reclined on her, her hands clutching at the back of it. "Leia, I thought you had told us all it was best not to," she said heavily, her eyes fixed on the screens – Leia had set it so that subtitled translations ran across the bottom of each.

"You ought not to," Leia answered, her voice starting off sharp and harsh, but softening, as she realized how she sounded – and Bail felt a surge of pride, that she so quickly caught herself, and metered her reaction.

She turned her head up, her lips curving up in a small, mirthless smile.

"Best practice to refrain," she advised calmly. "I – have to amend my personal engagement with it," she went on, "as it's imprudent for me to insulate myself from what's being said, considering I am also not allowed at my office."

Rouge grit her teeth.

"I still do not see the value in banning you from your duties, from even being in your office, simply because there is a supreme inquiry – "

"To preserve integrity," Leia murmured, turning back to the screens. "That way, if I am found to be corrupt, they ordered cessation of my duties as quickly as they could; there is no accusation that I was left to orchestrate some last minute tricks."

Rouge put her hand to her forehead.

"You aren't corrupt, though," she said, half to herself – tired of hearing such a thing, tired of living in a reality where anyone considered it.

"That we all know," Bail said, sharing a look with Leia, and then visiting a sympathetic look on his sister. "It'll take its course, Rouge," he encouraged stoically. "They'll find nothing to indict Leia."

"Of course they won't," Rouge agreed tartly. "She's done nothing to warrant even the suggestion of dishonor!"

Leia waved her hand flippantly.

"Nothing, nothing at all," she said smoothly. "All I've done is – allow my husband to assault private citizens with no repercussions, ahhh, purposefully deceive the leadership into giving me a full position of power, use my Ambassador ship to re-invigorate Imperial support under guise of peace – ah, and collaborate with my brother, the Sith lord, to quietly create an army of Sith secret police, rather than Jedi."

Leia traced her finger along her lip coolly, ignoring the looks her father and Rouge gave her.

She lifted one shoulder casually, keeping her face schooled, her eyes wide and unassuming.

"I'm merely reporting my crimes as they are discussed."

"There are hosts of people who do not believe those theories, Leia," Bail said quietly.

She nodded, but said nothing, her eyes narrowing – she nudged the volume for the holo with a tendril of energy, a gentle utilization of the Force, and a young newscaster could be heard in deep conversation with her co-host –

"Of course they say, again and again, that she's nothing like him – she was raised on Alderaan, and they're pacifists – a bit hard to believe, considering Alderaan's deep involvement in the war – "

"Yes, what does that have to say about it?" a male co-host laughed meanly. "She's raised by pacifists, and when she becomes a teenager, what's the first thing she does? Joins a terrorist organization."

Leia's jaw twitched as she rolled her eyes, and Bail's eyes narrowed.

"Terrorist," he began. "Terrorist – I take offense to the suggestion that a justified insurgency – "

As he spoke, another member on the news program in question piped up in tandem, as if he'd somehow, over the wavelengths, heard Bail's indignation.

"Oh, come now, you cannot – honestly attempt to retroactively define history in that manner, and certainly not when it's so fresh it's barely history – the Rebellion, a terrorist organization? Even if you have doubts about Princess Leia's character at this point, accusing her of such is hardly fair, and it's dishonest semantics –"

"Dishonest semantics or not, you must remember – the Rebellion did terrible things. They won, they fought an Empire – but the Rebellion did terrible things."

Leia was silent, even as Bail grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes – because she had little response to that, she had hardly any argument; that assessment was correct – the Rebellion had. It was war, and the Rebellion had –

But it had been necessary, and Leia –

"I did my best never to give an order that took gratuitous or innocent life," she said quietly.

Rouge bent to kiss her forehead, and retreated for a moment, disappearing out of the room.

Leia's eyes shifted, and Bail heard another volume move up – the next program, one young woman arguing aggressively in Leia's favor –

"This response has been heinous – it was not even Princess Leia's cover-up, it was Bail Organa's – if the public feels lied to, how must she feel? The Princess has never been a cruel leader, and to suggest she is now – "

"Ah, so there is some sense out there," Bail said dryly, while Leia turned her ears slightly towards another screen.

"We aren't about sensationalized reporting, here; the important facts remain – Ambassador Organa's inquiry continues, conclusion is impending, and a decision on her comportment while in office is said to be announced by the end of the week – I won't give a personal opinion on air, but suffice it to say that this network certainly hopes the courts and investigators are more objective than a Media obsessed with rampant speculation – "

Leia sat forward, uncurling her feet and leaning up. She rested her elbows on her knees and rubbed her temple tightly, closing her eyes and staring down for a moment.

"Father," she asked, glancing up. "Have you heard anything from Mon?"

He noticed her eyes were red, perhaps a little wet, and his heart went out to her – he knew, more than anyone, how much Leia loved her job, loved her calling to politics, to leadership –

He shook his head.

"Nothing material," he said heavily, bitter honesty in his tone. "I had thought – Lelila, I had thought she would be more aggressive in defense of you – "

Leia waved her hand, turning her head to the side. She took a deep breath.

"Refusing to act unilaterally in my removal is as much as she can give me," she said tightly. "If she were to dismiss any concerns, even if they are," Leia grit her teeth, "unfounded," she growled – "she'd be accused of refusing to honor democracy," Leia trailed off.

She brushed her fingertips against her brow lightly.

"She is in a delicate position," she remarked.

Bail nodded – and he understood, yet still he wished – and deep down, he wanted to take Mon Mothma aside and demand she speak out for Leia – he had mentored Mon, and in turn, she had taken Leia under her wing when Leia was just a girl, and they all owed each other –

"You are to be in Court in two days?" Bail asked.

Leia nodded, swallowing hard.

"For the verdict on my inquisition," she paused. "They questioned Carlist about your rescue today," she said softly. She lifted her eyes. "The whole council – even Threkin Horm," she said. "To determine if I – abused New Republic funds on a barely possible, highly dangerous rescue mission," she shook her head.

Leia laughed a little tightly, in disbelief.

"I recused myself from the decision, Father," she said. "It was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I did the right thing."

Bail nodded.

"I have faith that you always have, Leia," he said solemnly. "Even this…maudlin as it is – it is the right thing, considering what you want for the future."

Leia pressed her lips together tightly, and lifted her shoulders. She breathed out, short and frustrated.

"I am so tired of this," she said quietly – and then a moment later, she gave another disbelieving little laugh, looking back at him wryly. "You know I – said the same thing, after the first briefing I received about your distress signal," she confessed.

Bail looked at her curiously.

"That you were tired?"

"Mmhmm," Leia murmured. "I can't remember if I've told you this – Han went with me, to the meeting. Mon Mothma pulled me aside to counsel me about him," Leia tilted her head. She furrowed her brow. "It was when the Media was obsessed with my affair with him," she said softly. "Mon asked me if I was sleeping with him. She had that much nerve."

Bail gave her a wary look.

"And I'm sure you told her that you were not, as you never have," he said seriously, narrowing his eyes with a stern joke.

Leia blinked a little, and smiled wryly at her father, appreciative of the jest.

"Never," she agreed. "We live a celibate life."

"Well, that doesn't seem like a particularly thrilling manner in which to be married," Rouge said, coming back into the room and marching around the sofa to take a seat.

Leia gave her an amused look, and Bail shook his head.

"You are a constant surprise, Ro," he said dryly.

She smiled a bit, and sat down near Leia, turning to her, clearing her throat and speaking over the drone of the holo.

'There is no derision to be found in the Alderaanian community, Leia," she said, quiet and serious. "I work closer with most of them than any of us – Winter and I," she said. "When the inquiry is over, you need to let them speak out."

Leia sighed uncomfortably.

"I don't want it to seem as if I am ordering the diaspora to support me – "

"No one will see it as such! Pooja Naberrie has the Queen of Naboo offering firm support, and no one is accusing her of manipulation – "

"Pooja doesn't have the power I have, Rouge, and it's easy to believe Naboo would support a daughter of Naberrie blood," Leia said, her voice strained. "I – believe me, I would agree with you, but things are," she gestured at the television, "things are – I prepared for certain accusations, and yet there are still hateful things even I didn't imagine."

Bail leaned forward.

"Leia, they want to speak."

Leia rubbed her forehead, turning dolorously to the holo.

"Let it wait until after the inquiry verdict," she murmured. "At least when it is proven that I have no corruption in my work – the positive support can take a firmer hold, I can come out of this – limbo."

She fixated on the screen, reading Han's name in one of the subtitles, and nudged the volume for that one – a talk show, one of the daily ones that discussed social issues.

Limbo, Bail thought – limbo, it was such a quintessential word for the way things kept rising and falling, the ups and downs and pros and cons of everything going on – Leia had timed her agreement to the inquiry so perfectly, right as the galactic senate ended its session for a stretch of a few weeks, so no new issues could be raised through proper channels – limbo for her, limbo for her political opponents –

Leia raised her chin suddenly, her eyes narrowing at the discussion that so lightly rose on screen.

"He's always been a brawler – a common thug, fighting in the streets – you know he's not only a former imperial officer, but a runner for a drug kingpin – and to think, this fairytale scandal was so popular for a while – "

"It's no wonder – it makes sense now, of course, why they let her get away with marrying someone so far beneath her, considering – "

Sitting in the study with her father, trapped almost – she seemed to feel trapped, sometimes – in the Embassy quarters, she found herself closer to bursting into tears than she had been for this entire firestorm – Bail watched her clench her fists, her eyes water heavily. She started to lash out with her power and snap the power off, but in a split second she recognized that as an angry use of her sensitivity, and resisted it, lest she shatter the screen or - align herself with the darker side of the Force.

"Turn it off," she hissed.

Bail lurched forward and did so, looking warily at Rouge out of the corner of his eye. Rouge stared at the now translucent screen, her face unreadable, and Bail leaned forward and sighed cautiously.

"You know," he soothed heavily, "how some of these old families can be Leia – how the social climbers can be."

She sat forward sharply – passionately.

"Yes," she agreed viciously, and jabbed her finger at the clear, innocent screen, "and they can say whatever they want about me, Father. They can degrade me, and spit on me – I do not care what they say about me," she said, her voice cracking. "But Han?"

She shook her head, placing her palm flat against her chest, her eyes stinging.

"They can't. I won't stand for it." She bit her lip hard. "He is the one person who has loved me no matter what, through all of this. All of it. He's better. He is better than all of them."

She clenched her teeth, protective of him, and all he meant to her – Han had been so battered by all of this, Bail knew it as well as Leia did – only recently had he gotten his footing back and fortified himself in a rhythm with Leia – it was one of the few things that rattled her instantly, any attack on Han.

Bail clasped his hands, nodding. He hesitated – and decided not to speak, though he felt a twinge of hurt, for a moment, to think that Leia felt Han was truly the only person who loved her through all of this – was Bail's love unimportant, was Luke's – the Naberries'? But he counseled himself fairly – Leia's bond with Han was uniquely different from all others, just as Bail's with Breha had been.

She didn't mean to disparage the other support in her life, and he reminded himself of that, and he bit his tongue.

Rouge folded her arms, her lips pursing scornfully.

"Let you marry him!" she quoted indignantly. "It wasn't a matter of letting you, was it? You were going to marry Han no matter what we said. As is fitting for a woman with your education and independence, I suppose," she shook her head, and sniffed, while Leia looked at her admiringly. "Let," she repeated, scowling.

Leia tilted her head over, her eyes red, and fought with a small smile, holding back tears.

Rouge shook her head at the holo, her profile turned away from it disdainfully.

"Really, this is offensive. Han's had more manners about the whole thing than most of the old high courtiers," Rouge grumbled stiffly.

Taking a deep breath, Leia smiled more fully.

"I think he'd like to hear you've come around to him, Aunt Rouge," she said gently.

Rouge shrugged a little warily - she said, matter-of-factly -

"No, your husband and I have a relationship that is cheerful with animosity."

- and Leia laughed, and Bail shook his head wryly, amused to see Rouge be the one to cheer Leia for once, instead of inadvertently irritate her, or say something that hit the wrong mark.

"I must admit, it has been – less traumatic than I expected, living with Han," Rouge said thoughtfully.

"Your suite is on the top floor," Bail reminded her. "You are hardly inconvenienced by him."

Rouge nodded primly.

"I rather think those most inconvenienced are the kitchen staff," Bail went on with a snort. "Leia, is there anyway you can make Han stop harassing them?"

"Not unless they start putting more spice in the food," Leia murmured, thinking of Han's maddening tendency to go poke around in the kitchen around meal times and try to take over the job of cooking.

Rouge smiled placidly, and lifted her head, listening.

"That's him," Leia murmured, tilting her head back – she heard heavy footsteps far off, at the entrance to the residence – and only one person staying here at the moment walked so heavily.

The three of them waited for Han's appearance, Bail with a narrow expression on his face, because he knew, when Han walked in that door, he'd catch sight of Leia and – solely to irritate a father's sensibilities –

"Hey, Sweetheart," Han greeted slyly, shooting Bail a smug glance as he strolled over to the sofa – he leaned down, grasped her chin gently, and tilted her head back, bending down to kiss her.

Bail rolled his eyes – having been married, he was no stranger to the ritual of kissing one's spouse upon arriving home, but after the first few days of Han barging in the door in the evening and practically jumping down Leia's throat, Bail had accused him of doing it just to be obnoxious.

Han's asinine response had been to inform him that he was being entirely respectable, as he usually kissed her 'somewhere else.'

Bail felt a surge of appreciation for his sister when she reached over and slapped Han lightly in the back of the head.

"Save it," she ordered sternly, her matronly expression brooking no argument.

"For what, Aunt Rouge?" Han asked innocently, and then straightened up a little, running his thumb over Leia's jaw.

He seemed about to tease Rouge further, and then paused, frowning.

"Your eyes are red," he noted suspiciously.

He looked to Bail immediately. Leia reached up and grasped Han's wrist.

"Don't worry," she murmured.

Han looked uneasy.

"Where's Chewie?" he asked.

"I sent him with Luke," Leia placated. "Luke was going to – talk to some protestors near the Old Jedi temple site. He wanted to speak with them personally," she said. "I didn't want him alone, and I thought he'd seem too militant if I sent guards with him."

"I want Chewie with you," Han retorted tensely.

"The directive you gave Chewie means he listens to me," Leia said gently. "Han, I'm safe here all day. Luke's life is important, too."

Han looked mollified, and blinked. He nodded, and straightened up a little –

"S'long as you don't go out without him," Han muttered.

"There is that we have in common, Han," Rouge sniffed. "I do like that big Wookiee following her and menacing threats."

Han nodded smugly.

"Yeah, me too."

Leia rolled her eyes a little, and Han looked over her head.

"What's the Holo run down today, Dad?" he asked sarcastically. His hand fluttered over Leia's hair – and Bail sensed he was asking because of her red eyes.

He considered his son-in-law for a moment – Han had gotten extremely reticent, in the past couple of weeks, carefully hiding his frustration and animosity at the situation, and channeling it all into both concern for Leia's safety, and being impenetrable – and Bail knew it took a lot for Han not to react to things, with his temper as short as it was.

"Oh, they were being mean to you," Rouge remarked wryly. "That is why Lelila here got her tears and her claws out."

It was a teasing, but kind remark, and Han looked down at Leia.

"Ah, y'know I don't care, Princess," he said smoothly.

"I care," she said – and Bail watched her body tense suddenly, tighten up like it had when she heard the remarks. "I am – I put myself on trial, I am well aware of that, but their treatment of you – vicious, heinous," she bared her teeth, a sardonic sneer creasing her brow. "I want to rip their tongues out every time I hear it – or revoke their broadcasting license."

Han laughed a little dryly, giving a shrug to sooth her, and Bail looked at her profile narrowly, his brow furrowing – he felt like the gatekeeper of Leia's good sense, of her morals, because he'd instilled them in her, and somehow, though he thought she was joking, he blurted into a paternal diatribe –

"That sounds totalitarian, Leia," Bail said sharply.

Taken aback, Leia turned her head, her face falling into an unreadable mask. Han's head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed tightly, almost incredulous – but Bail felt it was – not necessary, but somehow important to say, because Leia's most significant trigger was threats to Han, or mistreatments of Han, and Bail knew, he knew, that it was love that could so often lead people astray –

His daughter looked at him silently for a very long time, and then got up, Han's hand sliding off of her, and left the sitting room – she disappeared, and Bail did not even hear the slam of the door that lead to the suite she and Han were staying in.

Han stared after her for a moment, and then turned to look at Bail, his expression irritable. Bail was reminded of a time when Han would have lost his composure, even shouted, and it was a testament to their stronger relationship that Han just shook his head tightly.

He rubbed his forehead.

"Why'd you say that?" he asked tiredly. He shifted forwards, stretching out his shoulders as he started to stand up straight, his jaw tight. "Why the hell would you say that?"

"Han, I'm not making accusations – this is all such a dangerous game, and we all have to check our weaker thoughts – "

"She's not weak," Han snapped.

"That's not – you're simplifying my point."

Han shrugged roughly. He pushed away from the sofa.

"You don't need to say stuff like that right now," he muttered.

Bail stood, holding his hands up in a placating manner – and he understood that; he understood that he had come off as harsh, but Leia was the one who was adamant that she not let the Media get to her – and Bail knew this was all starting to get to her, and he wanted to keep her grounded.

"I'm reminding her of who I raised her to be," he said – and he saw Han's eyes narrow caustically, as if it was the most self-righteous thing he'd ever heard.

Han waved his hand vaguely, turning away his back for a moment, and then he rounded on Bail, shaking his head – he glanced between him and Rouge, and his eyes took on one of those unpredictable glints that were so unique to him, and so worrisome.

"Half the time, she thinks she inherited a Vader switch, Bail," Han said curtly, shaking his head. "Kriff, you know how long I'll have to go down on her to make her forget you said that?"

He said it so sternly, and without so much as a whisper of a smirk, that Bail looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending – that is, until Rouge turned around, grabbed Han's wrist, and pinched him, her eyes narrowing sharply.

Han yanked his hand back smoothly and started to grin, and Bail gave him a tight grimace, a resigned look on his face.

"You've had your fun, Han," Bail snapped coolly. "I do not think Leia would appreciate that performance."

"Oh, yeah, she would."

"I was referring to what you just said to me," Bail retorted, his face reddening, though his expression stayed stony.

Han shrugged harshly.

"Let her get a little angry, Viceroy," Han said flippantly.

Bail looked at him a long time.

"She doesn't want that driving her," he said.

Han made a face like he knew that, like he'd been told a thousand times – but he shook his head all the same.

"She's stir crazy," he said tightly, and then turned on his heel with a muttered swear – he disappeared after her, and Bail folded his arms, looking down tiredly at his sister.

Rouge put her hand over her mouth lightly, and then closed her eyes.

"He's right, Bail," she said. "We know Leia. She needs her work."

Bail nodded in wordless agreement – she needed her work back; she needed to dig back into the trenches, get back to her statements and her maneuvering and taking on the press – the mandatory silence and absence was killing her for the moment – and Bail worried; he worried for how it affected all of them, and he worried for what it did to her emotional balance, because as sad as it made him to think she felt out of place in a home with him – intuitively, he knew that being here was not good for her.


Luke had particular affinity for Leia's offices at the Alderaanian Embassy complex. Her workspace as a whole – and the Embassy complex itself – was so purely different from the rest of Coruscant. Its original designers had made sure of that – had endeavored to preserve a small piece of their gorgeous planet in the midst of the steel-and-smog murkiness of a city-planet. Even as the city encroached around them, the Embassy grounds sprawled out and were surrounded by white walls splashed with red and purple ivy, gardens and gazebos, art halls and chapels – things here had fallen into disarray, during the Empire, and after Alderaan's emissaries had been expelled and the planet destroyed – but since the return of the Republic, and the Organas, the Embassy was restored to all most all of its former glory.

Those things that could not be replaced – ransacked valuables, broken heirlooms, and extinct flora and fauna – were conspicuously absent, as a reminder, but the empty spaces were filled with new people, learning new things, and keeping the culture alive.

Luke loved it – he loved that this place thrived so, and that Leia had small scraps of home here, and somehow, he felt at home here – perhaps because Leia was his family, and Tatooine was no one's true home – and so he felt adopted into fallen Alderaan as much as he felt adopted by the Force.

He hadn't seen Leia in a few days – he had been preoccupied with Mara, and intricately focused on his military duties, to keep himself sane – and so he sought her out here to check on her, today, particularly, in light of a recent news story that had broken –

A positive one, and that was – somewhat rare, lately.

"Luke!"

She greeted him warmly, unfolding her legs from under her as she stood up from the small sofa in her office. She set aside the work she'd been reading and swept loose strands of hair back from her face, tucking them behind her ears as she came forward to hug him.

She wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders and squeezed, pulling back to study his face. Her hands slid down his arms and she held his elbows firmly. She gave him a faintly amused look.

"Is that, ah – a new perfume?"

Momentarily taken aback, Luke composed himself, and blinked placidly.

"What?" he asked casually, arching a brow at her. He tilted his head, tucking thoughts of Mara away into impenetrable corners of his mind.

"You smell like a woman," Leia clarified bluntly. She arched a sisterly eyebrow at him. "Are you seeing someone?"

Luke looked at her blankly for a spare second, locking the walls around Mara's name, her image – her presence.

"No," he said simply.

He had not expected the question – and had not realized he smelled so distinctly of Mara, and thought it did leave him with some guilt to be – less than truthful – with Leia, he was immediately wary of discussing this with her. Not only due to Mara's reticence when it came to meeting his family, but due to his lack of conviction on the topic of what he and Mara were doing at all.

Leia tilted her head curiously, her lips pursing – and Luke felt her mood dampen a bit. She clearly sensed he wasn't being entirely honest, and yet instead of pursuing it, she nodded a little, and studied him for a moment.

She – did sense something odd about his answer, but she chose not to bother him about it; Sith knew she'd asked enough of Luke lately.

"How are you?" Leia asked intently – and it was not the usual, casual greeting given by one person to another, the sort of reflexive how-are-you that asked only for a generic response, and not true introspection – no; Leia asked with sincere concern, because Luke bore this public burden as much as she did.

Luke nodded, clasping her elbows lightly. He smiled in his usual non-threatening, easy way.

"I'm alright," he promised.

She held him a moment longer, loosening her grip a little and studying him.

"It's understandable if you aren't," she said a little dryly, one of her eyebrows ticking up knowingly. "I haven't seen you in a handful of days," she murmured, and stepped back, crossing her arms uncomfortable. "Time's running together a bit – "

"You've been cooped up," Luke noted, and then shrugged. "You know how I am – I disappear a lot."

Leia sighed. She looked at him for a moment, and then stepped back, gesturing at her more relaxed work area for him to have a seat in a cushioned chair, or the sofa.

"I can't quite tell if I've slighted you, or if it's your usual hermit behavior," she confessed, resuming her seat – she didn't curl up into a little ball, as she had been – she perched on the edge, leaning forward on her knees.

Luke grinned.

"I don't know either," he said. "I never think you're slighting me, for what it's worth."

"I never mean to," Leia said heavily – though it was one thing she often berated herself about; her tendency to forget to consider Luke – Luke's perspective, Luke's feelings, what Luke wanted.

In so many respects, he was just so starkly different than her, despite their shared blood, birthdate – history.

Luke took a seat casually and leaned back, tilting his head curiously as he realized Leia's mental guard was fairly relaxed. She smiled encouragingly at him, leaving only a thin veil hovering in their connection, earnest and welcoming. He appreciated that – he truly hadn't felt as if Leia was ignoring him or shunting him to the side; he and Leia had vastly different interests, when it came to public reckoning about their bloodline: she wanted her slate clean and honest, so she could run for office without secrets, without the threat of blackmail – so she could continue her fight for justice and progress.

Luke wanted the soul of his fallen father personally vindicated; he wanted to craft a new Jedi Order with the truths of power open to the public, a teaching tool for the light – and he wanted part of the New Republic's origin narrative to be one of redemption, of the constant persistence of good despite overwhelming bad.

He didn't care for political maneuvering and so, though he struggled with the onslaught of negativity that came his way as a byproduct of Leia's statecraft, he managed it because he, too, had wanted the truth out there – and yet he felt relief when she chose to leave him out of her statements and the strategy they were using.

It left him to his meditation, to his personal discovery – to his endless conversations with Mara about what it meant to be a Jedi, what it meant to manipulate the force and – and -

What his calling was, in terms of the Force, and the future.

"Han checks on me," he said abruptly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Leia's brow furrowed a little.

"He - ?"

"Checks on me," Luke repeated, folding his hands and placing them behind his head. "I mean he checks in with me when we're both on duty, or at headquarters, but if he doesn't see me, he calls."

Leia smiled softly.

"I'm not surprised."

"Me neither," Luke said. "It's something he can do to help you out without getting in trouble," he snorted.

Leia groaned softly, shaking her head. She brushed her fingers over her lips.

"I hate that," she murmured. "I hate that I – I constantly make him feel like he's making things hard on me when he's not – he acts perfectly within reason, half the time, he's just not as refined as my family is used to but," she trailed off for a moment. "That incident was so unfair, and the Media is still crucifying him for it – he was protecting me. Protecting his home."

Luke nodded, and held up his hands, his expression serious.

"No, Leia – I agree, don't worry. I don't think Han has any resentment towards you – "

"My family, then," Leia interrupted quietly. She looked at him tiredly, her eyes dull. "Even when he gets along with them, they clash. It's merely that – some things are so ingrained, so fundamentally different, that they never see eye to eye. Different worlds."

"You're from their world," Luke said simply. "You and Han see eye to eye."

Leia tilted her head.

"Yes," she agreed, "but I've said before – there's something different in my blood," she reflected quietly – and then quickly went on, a wry smile on her face – "I don't mean that I think I'm evil, Luke," she placated. "I mean…the nature of Alderaanians…is so deeply true to our culture that it's very nearly inherited. It's part of my upbringing but not of my core," she said slowly. "And the war – well, the war," she said flatly. "The war added elements to me that put me at odds with the way I used to be."

Luke shrugged.

"Not for the worse," he offered.

Leia smiled wryly.

"I'm inclined to agree," she confided. "There are a lot of invaluable things I've learned that I would never want to lose."

Luke shifted, leaning forward intently.

"What's one thing you'd want back, if you could have it?" he asked. "I don't mean material – I know the answer to that," he said. "One aspect of – you, emotionally, that the war changed."

Leia considered him as if she wasn't sure she was comfortable answering, and then he sensed her relax a little, and search herself for an accurate answer – she hesitated, pursed her lips, and breathed out slowly.

"I wish I had no triggers," she said quietly. "It's not so much that I wish I had never been hurt," she explained, brow knitting – "I do, but – life hurts everyone, one way or another – I wish the effects didn't bleed into everything," she told him.

She swallowed, and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"I guess to put it simply, I wish Han could come up behind me and hug me without it sending a jolt of panic through me."

She fell quiet again, and then lifted her head, her eyes widening.

"Actually," she began, correcting herself. "If – anything," she paused, her voice softening hoarsely, "you ask what I want back?" She swallowed hard. "I want to be comfortable around my family again," she said. "Wholly comfortable."

"You aren't?" Luke asked gently.

"I am," Leia said mildly, "but it isn't the way it was. I," she paused. "I used to come home from the Senate, return to the palace, and shed the skin we wear in public," she bit her lip, and shrugged. "Now I feel like I keep it on."

Luke smiled a little sadly – he sensed, in reading the general emotions around her words, what she was unable – or unwilling – to articulate. Her relationship with her father and her aunt was repaired, it was nowhere near as contentious and fractured as it had been when they first were rescued, but it would never return to its pre-War status.

"Father knows I have a traumatic stress disorder," she said quietly, "this isn't to say it offends him. It just is not something that I revealed to him – by choice," she explained, "and that speaks volumes."

Luke nodded – he understood; Bail had once been Leia's great hero, her truest confidant in politics, and in her personal life – different than Winter, but her beloved and trusted Father, all the same.

Leia cleared her throat, and arched her brows.

"Did you come see me for some family therapy?" she asked, her tone lightening. She gave him a faux suspicious look. "Did Han put you up to this?"

Luke laughed, leaning back and slouching a little, shaking his head rapidly.

"No, I – I haven't seen Han today, actually," he snorted. "Why would he?" he retorted. "Does Han think you need it?"

Leia sighed good-naturedly, her expression flickering a little. She said nothing, shrugged – and what Luke gained from her thoughts was not animosity towards Han, or a sense of tension between them, but that Leia was worried about him, and she knew he was worried about her, and they were kept in close quarters at the Embassy with her family –

"What's it like, Han living with Bail?" Luke quipped.

"Hmmm," Leia sighed, tapping her chin. "He delights in harassing Father within an inch of his sanity."

"I'm sure it's amusing."

"To an extent," agreed Leia dryly. She sighed. "Han wants to go to Corellia. He likes that we're here," she gestured vaguely around the Embassy office, implying the rest of the complex as well, "because he's on sharp alert about those death threats and possible security compromises but," she shook her head. "He hates all of this attention."

"Doesn't help that it's negative," Luke said flatly. "I know how Han is when people denigrate you."

Leia nodded. Her brow furrowed.

"He – he's kept his temper under fine control," she murmured. "Ever since," she trailed off –

Luke nodded – since he had that painfully public, bloody fight with a bounty hunter, the one the holo often re-played clips of, since nothing truly corrupt was coming out of the investigation into Leia.

When they came up short on what to hit her with, they hit Han, and it cut her deeply.

Luke leaned forward.

"Well, other than the obvious, I came to see you because of the pamphlet," he said, his eyes lighting up earnestly.

His sister's eyes narrowed a little, and she gave him a vaguely worried look.

"Pamphlet?" she repeated slowly, the word drawn out and deliberate.

Luke nodded, and then he cocked his head, pausing.

"You don't – the pamphlet," he said, reaching into his robes. "The one in support of you – pushing back against half the, ah," Luke fumbled for a way to put it, and his face darkened for a moment, "slander," he decided, "that's out there."

Leia sat up a little straighter, her expression composed, and Luke blinked.

"I was sure you'd – you don't know?"

She compressed her lips, and then cleared her throat.

"I have – been – quarantined, in a way," she said delicately, "from Media that is not essential to my ongoing work," she explained.

Her eyes narrowed, and she bowed her head for a moment, staring at her hands. Her knuckles turned white.

"You mentioned I've been cooped up," she said in a low voice. "I have," she emphasized. "I was – drawn in to a lot of the gossip and fodder. It was distracting me, and I," she paused, shaking her head – thinking of her father's words –

That sounds totalitarian, Leia.

Luke caught his breath, his eyes wide.

"Bail called you totalitarian?" he asked, plucking the words from her mind.

Leia's expression was pinched, then hollow. She shrugged, and then she nodded.

"There is quite a lot of heinous commentary out there," she said quietly. "It," she paused for a long time, "stings," she said, finishing with a hollow tone.

Luke noticed immediately that she was reluctant to admit that, and he made note of it, leaning forward –

"Leia, just because you prepared for there to be backlash doesn't mean it can't hurt you – " he started.

She waved her hand, cleared her throat, and straightened up.

"As it were," she began, elegantly redirecting him, "while inquiry into my work goes on, I've devoted my time exclusively to Alderaanian issues, and Father liaises with Tavska and my office to compose reports of what I need," she said. "It excludes the petty and the vitriolic."

Luke nodded, his face brightening again.

"That's the thing," he said earnestly, pulling the pamphlet out of his pocket – it had appeared recently, marketed in holo form, hard copy form, in every form imaginable, and it had been brought to his attention by Mara, of all people –

She'd come home from exploring some old dungeon haunt of hers near the Imperial Palace, and thrust it to him over breakfast –

Someone still loves your sister, she'd said casually, and rolled her eyes when he softly counseled her – Mara, I love my sister.

"Here," Luke said, pushing it forward.

Leia made no movement, and he held it out seriously.

"You know I'd never bring something to you if it was going to hurt you," he assured her.

Leia nodded – I trust you.

She leaned forward and took it – the pamphlet was printed on the finest silk paper, lacquered with the hardening gloss that made it like an old-fashioned book, but flashy and eye-catching. She held it flat in her palms, her eyes focused on the title – and Luke watched as she gingerly reached up to run her fingers over the lettering – glittery letters catching the lights in her office in iridescent sparks.

She studied it, and Luke heard her read the words aloud in her head, her tone soft and wary, her inner voice strangely ethereal, and mildly accented with Alderaanian, even though she spoke without that aristocratic lilt –

Leia Organa Should Have Killed Me.

As she looked up, the title sinking in, Luke felt her tumble through a myriad of emotions – uncertainty, confusion, irritation, hope, fear – and when she met his eyes, he smiled another encouraging smile.

"Who wrote this?" she asked, wary and hoarse.

Luke sat forward, elbows on his knees –

"It was disseminated with no author," he explained hastily. "I have – an idea," he said wryly. He nodded, spreading his palms out. "Read it."

Leia looked down at it, and then up at him, staring coolly –

"Leia, it's positive," he said. "I know I needed it," he swore. "I have no doubt that your report today will include this," he reached out and tapped it. "Read it. Trust me."

"I trust you," Leia assured him again.

Her eyes fell back down, her hands skated over the lettering again – and with a firm press of her lips together, she delicately opened to the first page and Luke watched her as she began to take in the words, starting at the beginning –

in the weeks following the revelation that Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker are the children of Darth Vader, too many bloodthirsty Holo reporters, and too many power-hungry politicians, have attempted to label the Princess of Alderaan with the sins of a man she never knew…suggesting she has inherited an evil nature…

Luke sat back to watch Leia critically, able to follow along as she read aloud in her head, and he saw the moment that she reached a critical part – no author, indeed, but the paragraph that easily identified the producer of this document to her, as it had to Luke, as well –

let it be known that, in the eyes of any sane person, I deserved death at the hands of this woman; a weaker person would have taken vengeance without thought, ignored the predicaments of many for the savage pleasure of killing one out of revenge – several years ago, in an act of desperation, I took from Princess Leia the one thing left in the galaxy that she loved, and I handed her to her greatest enemies – and when her chance came to execute me, at her own hand, and the hands of her companion Chewbacca – she should have – and yet, she did not.

Leia swallowed hard, and looked up, her eyes flickering – and looked back down quickly, soaking in the next few sentences –

Her mercy was not entirely selfless at the time, but once the dust had settled – Princess Leia again had a chance to turn me over to the legal authorities of her rebellion, and instead saw past the surface, and into the complexities of what I had done – though I had hurt her in a deeply personal way, she recognized that I had saved my people – she granted me mercy then, and going forward; she granted me a clean slate when I followed through on my word to make my mistakes right – this is a woman who, had she truly inherited the ravaging, violent nature of a man like Darth Vader, should have snapped my neck without second thought, should have let her Rebellion burn for the sake of personal gratification –

And yet she did not.

Leia Organa should have killed me.

And yet she did not.

I put it to your conscience to decide what kind of woman she is, to bear the slander she is given with all the grace you in the Media have refused her.

Leia looked up again, blinking slowly.

"Lando," she murmured. "Lando?" her voice went up only a little, disbelief, or gratitude, something she hadn't quite identified, yet – "Lando wrote this," she said, closing it, her fingers curling protectively around the edges.

Luke beamed.

"I suspected," he agreed. "I – well, I wasn't on Bespin for most of that, but I knew the story," he said.

He paused.

"And I remember you speaking for him when Rieekan and Madine wanted his blood, for betraying you," Luke said softly. "I know you did it because you needed him to find Han, but Lando seemed to think it was more."

Leia looked at Luke intently for a long time.

"It was about Han," she allowed. "It – was also more," she explained.

She took a deep breath.

"Lando did what I did not," she said. "He saved the lives and the families and the futures of every person under his care on Bespin, by handing over one girl and one boy to the Empire," she whispered. "I watched Alderaan burn to protect the Rebellion."

"Leia," Luke said softly. "Look where we are now."

"I know," she whispered. "I am not saying what I did was wrong. Alderaan would have burned in time, just as Bespin would have seen the wrath of the Empire eventually. Lando only bought them time," she agreed heavily, "but I understood."

She nodded, almost to herself.

"Even in the depths of my sorrow over losing Han, I understood."

She looked down, her eyes on the written words.

"Lando," she murmured again.

"For what it's worth, I think he dictated it – maybe to Tendra," Luke said. "Lando never seemed particularly verbose."

"On the contrary," Leia retorted with a short laugh, "Lando's speech can often be about as flashy as his wardrobe," she noted, thinking a little fondly of his grandiose flirtations with her, the first time they met.

She turned the pamphlet in towards her chest, tucking it into her shoulder.

"I wonder," she began slowly.

"—why he wrote it anonymously?" Luke supplied, plucking the thought from her head – Leia nodded, and he frowned with interest. "I wondered that, too," he agreed. "Lando has…very little to lose, by speaking up for you. Business, I guess."

"Business," Leia said quietly. She pursed her lips, deep in thought. "He's smart," she murmured.

"That's some powerful writing," Luke said, shifting in his seat. "It leverages a heavy argument against any suggesting that you – that I," Luke trailed off, his eyes taking on a dull sadness for a moment, "that we have any evil in common with Vader."

Leia looked up at him and nodded.

"I have no doubt it will take hold within the hearts of people who already support us still, and the rest – the usual suspects – will find a way to claim the Organas manufactured it," she said. She took a deep breath. "It's those in the middle…malleable minds…that count."

She stopped, and then shook her head.

"No – I don't mean malleable; I mean people with hesitance to declare sides, or believe the hurricane of conspiracy theories and rumors – the complex decision makers."

"Shouldn't all politicians be complex decision makers?" Luke ventured with a snort.

Leia laughed.

"Ideally."

Luke rubbed his hands over his face and leaned forward, reaching out and holding his palms up.

"Listen, Leia – I know things are bad right now – "

"Luke," she started tiredly. "I ought to be the one giving you a pep talk."

He shook his head gently.

"The hate was a shock at first, but I understand it," he said. "Like you understand Lando. It's a painful reminder, always, that Anakin became Vader, and to the vast majority of those living today, he was only Vader – dark, menacing, and bloodthirsty," he explained. "It doesn't – it's okay," he said fairly, and honestly, trying to illustrate the way he was seeing it, and feeling it. "My career isn't balancing on a precipice," he said frankly. "I'm just a heroic figure facing a fall from grace – it happens to all legends," he joked wryly, "you're grappling with a possible loss of everything you've worked for, and I know things are bad."

He compressed his lips earnestly, pressed his palms together, and leaned forward seriously.

"If you're losing faith, I wanted to bring you that to remind you that it isn't all hatred and distrust," he said softly. "It's easy to brush it off because Lando would have been on your side anyway but – think of the people who he will convince."

Leia's eyes were soft, thoughtful – grateful. She smiled at him, and Luke was happy to see it.

"You know how I describe it, Luke?" she asked. "This whole experience – so far, going forward," she explained hoarsely. "It's a series of ups and downs – spiteful, malicious days, followed by days," she touched the pamphlet to her lips lightly, "with things like this."

She paused, catching her breath.

"It is what I prepared for," she said. Her expression faltered, eyes flickering between resigned, and hopeful: "I always think of it as if – in telling the galaxy, I've held up a mirror to let me see what my own reaction to this was like – as if on a larger scale, I can view the progression to acceptance."

Leia bit her lip.

"I fought for a free Republic and I have to believe that … as the shock runs its course, the galaxy will remember that," she said softly, "they'll settle into the same acceptance I had to."

Luke's eyes moved curiously, his attention drawn sharply to her words.

"And have you?" he asked, absorbed in the conversation. "Accepted - Vader, who we are to him?"

His sister was quiet. After a long silence, she gave a small nod.

"There are still stumbling blocks," she murmured. "Things I…struggle with." She paused, and laughed dryly. "I can't tell if the aftermath of the revelation is fortifying my peace, or deconstructing it."

Luke bowed his head.

"I know what you mean," he said, his voice low. He looked up. "I thought I had forgiven Father," he trailed off for a moment. "No, I have forgiven him – and yet, every day, I face the pain he caused to so many, and the betrayal and rage in their eyes when they look at me."

He cleared his throat.

"But we make our own choices," he said, reaching out to gesture at the pamphlet he'd given her. "We aren't beholden to a concept as useless and arbitrary as bad blood."

Leia tilted her head, and for a quiet moment, Luke looked back at her, unsure what she was thinking – he read conflict in her eyes, wariness in the tight muscles around her mouth and temple – she tilted her head, and he heard her thoughts start to form – Vader's anger corrupted him, and I am so angry –

Luke softened his expression.

"Do you want to meditate?" he asked, indirectly addressing her disjointed thought. "You and I – sift through some of the – "

"No," Leia interrupted, her tone a little clipped. "I am not particularly interested in that – I need my wits about me, and often, the meditation – debilitates me."

Luke bit back the comment that not meditating tended to do the same thing, if she let things go unaddressed for too long – but she had Han; Han was more than capable of being a rock for Leia if she needed him to be – and Luke had not come here to push her, or upset her, but to cheer her, and share in the relief that came with any positive press.

He cleared his throat.

"The verdict on your inquiry is set to come out in the next few days, right?" he asked.

Leia lifted a hand to her lips and held it there for a moment, and then pushed her hair back. She gave Luke a tight, but genuine smile, and lifted her shoulders.

"Let's not talk about that," she said neatly. "Luke, let's – talk about family, or the Rogue Squadron," she went on, her tone light, but her demeanor insistent. "Or why you smell like a woman."

"I don't," Luke groused, his stomach tensing a little – he was again struck with a sense of guilt, but at the moment Mara was – Mara was his safe place, and she was a force to be reckoned with all her own, and not only did he need to figure out his dynamic with her, Leia and Han and everyone around them did not need a stranger in the mix complicating things.

Leia shrugged a bit, and gave him a knowing look.

"If today is a day in which things have fluctuated up," she said. "I want to keep it that way."

Luke nodded – and so he dropped the subject of the Supreme Court inquiry into her allegedly corrupt ambassadorship, and he wracked his brains for an asinine story to tell about one of Wedge's latest escapades, or Jansen's latest pranks – he passed time with her, in that safe Alderaanian office, discussing nothing, for the time being, while everything raged in the world outside.


There was one bright spot that mellowed out the increasingly troubling, guilt-ridden anxiety that Leia felt while she temporarily lived in her family residence, and that bright spot was Winter – her suite in the Embassy compound was one flight of stairs up, and two doors to the right; her proximity was reminiscent of Leia's childhood on Alderaan, though in Aldera Winter had slept in quarters usually reserved for a second or third child of the ruling family – directly adjacent to Leia's crown quarters.

In comparison to the Palace of Antibes, the Embassy Residence was modest – smaller, though still extravagant in the delicate and classic manner native to Alderaanian structures – having Winter mere footsteps away was, inexplicably, the only thing that made Leia feel comfortable and at ease here – when she started to seethe with discomfort at the constriction she felt sharing a home with her Father, she turned to Winter's part of the residence for solace, and quietly nursed her complex feelings within the confines of their friendship.

Having Winter so near alleviated, to an extent, Leia's careful moderation of herself around her father and Rouge – it was, perhaps, because Winter had always been a confidante separate from Leia's parents; she had been a sister, but the bond between sisters and friends was vastly different between an adolescent woman and her parents, and even on Alderaan, Leia and Winter had shared things with each other that they would have kept from Bail and Breha – not for lack of trust, but simply because there were things parents were never privy to, regarding their maturing children.

She and Han were – somewhat ill at ease, considering the close quarters and the public scrutiny. They weren't at odds with each other, but despite his devil-may-care attitude, Leia knew Han often felt as wary as she did, when it came to having Rouge and Bail so close – neither of them wanted to broadcast the finer details of their relationship's idiosyncrasies, so even behind closed doors, they weren't entirely themselves – Winter bridged the gap, in a way; Winter was there to give Leia the space to be herself, as she had back on Alderaan, and in a new way – she was there to make up for the time she and Leia had lost in the intervening years, always, always willing to catch up on conversations they should have had while Leia fought a war, and Winter fought for her life in the wilderness of space.

Entering Winter's suite through the arched doorway just to the side of the third level, spiral staircase landing, Leia dropped her bag on the floor and went directly to the petite, elegantly decorated room that faced the courtyard of the Embassy. She drew open the iridescent, silk curtains that shielded the floor-to-ceiling windows, and essentially turned the sitting room into a sunroom while Winter left her bag to lay haphazardly with Leia's, and ducked into the kitchenette nook for something to drink.

Leia turned, closing her eyes lazily as the sun streamed through the window and warmed her back, and smiled a bit, listening to Winter clink glasses around –the suite Winter called home was one that had historically been designated for the Ambassador, which was why it was equipped with such a thing at all – the Royal suites had no such apparatuses, as the Organas did not cook for themselves.

To Leia's knowledge, Winter didn't really cook, either, but she had chosen this suite – despite originally being offered the rooms that were reserved for the princess – due to its relative distance from Bail and Rouge's sprawling apartments.

"I have anti-oxidant juices," Winter offered. "I also have wine," she added wickedly, almost in a sly murmur.

Leia opened her eyes a little, glaring at Winter through her lashes. Winter grinned, raising her eyes up good-naturedly – she held up a bottle of fresh-pressed juice, and Leia nodded – there was time for wine later; at the moment, she was more concerned about hydrating.

She also – preferred to drink less when she was intensely edgy or stressed, and though today's activities had alleviated many of those feelings, her underlying state since the milestone press conference weeks ago was a firm, unshakeable feeling of being trapped, cornered, and on trial.

Quite literally on trial, in some respects.

"Here," Winter said, offering Leia a cool glass and then retreating to rummage though her bag. "I'm going to finish my protein shake."

"The warm one?" Leia asked, collapsing in a very undignified manner on the sofa, and settling back into the plush upholstery.

She made a face, and Winter shrugged, shaking the bottle as she withdrew it, and tucking her small holopad under her arm as well.

"Why waste it?" she asked.

Leia sighed good-naturedly.

"So Alderaanian of you," she complimented.

"You'd throw it out?" Winter retorted.

"A room temperature protein shake? Yes."

"Corellian," Winter snarked.

Leia shrugged and spread her arms out, tilting her head back. Winter grinned and threw herself down on the sofa near Leia, powering up her holopad. Flushed, her head still swimming with endorphins from their workout, Leia grinned and brought the juice back to her lips, watching Winter skim through reports they had missed while at one of Coruscant's most elite health resorts.

'Health resorts' – because the rich did not go to establishments as low-class as gyms.

Inhaling the sweet scent of kavasa juice as she watched Winter, Leia narrowed her eyes critically to see if she could gauge her friend's facial expression. Despite the upswing in her mood since Luke had made her aware of the pamphlet, Leia had still refrained from letting herself get absorbed in the Media – she still filtered it through others, focusing on the strictly political, rather than the gossip – handling Alderaanian things exclusively while the inquiry droned on – rather, as it began to rush towards a close.

"Mmmm," murmured Winter. She nodded. "Hmm – mmhmm," she went on, ticking up an eyebrow.

"Holographs?" Leia asked smoothly.

Winter nodded. She turned her holopad around, and presented to Leia and image of both of them, accompanied by Chewbacca – captured just as they left the health resort, rucksack bags held tightly, hair braided similarly – the holo was clear, luminescent, and unmistakable.

Leia studied in neutrally.

"My, you look incredible," she said, deadpan.

Winter smirked, and turned the holopad to glance again – and then held it back out to Leia.

"Caption," she said, pursing her lips, a disdainful look on her face.

Leia read it – Princess Leia, accompanied by House Organa foster-daughter Winter Retrac, luxuriates at a spa – she expected the following paragraph accused her of gross lack of attention to her duties, and a careless, evil attitude about the state of her corruption inquiry.

She nodded – "Not altogether unexpected," she noted tightly – she had deliberately allowed herself to be photographed leaving the resort, however, and the holo did not jolt her.

Winter made an unintelligible little noise, and then turned the device back to herself, searching related images – and Leia pondered the first one she'd found –

Captured as she and Winter were leaving the complex for the day, after several hours of combat fighting instruction, which Leia had introduced Winter to much to Rouge and Bail's chagrin – and a one-hour cool down course of yoga – both she and Winter had composed, unsmiling expressions on their faces, private and stoic – Winter's hair, separated into five delicate braids that somehow twisted and curled into one thick one, tumbled over her shoulder as she looked at Leia, and Leia appeared to be staring directly into the holo-lens, her expression determined –

These past few days – weeks – during her corruption inquiry had been so suffocating; barred from work as she was, she slept fitfully, found it hard to focus on the more personal, slow-paced Alderaanian Council, and was nearly bored to tears in the confines of the protected Embassy – she and Winter had set out for time at the gym with a specific goal in mind: ease the tension that was building as tomorrow encroached, because tomorrow –

"Leia," Winter murmured, turning the holopad back to her again. She hesitated, and then said nothing else, and Leia tilted her head, blinking a few times – Winter had found another image, this one – Winter still faced forward, but Leia had her back turned, looking up to speak with Chewbacca –

Because neither she, nor Winter, had donned their simple shift tunics before leaving the resort for the trip back to the Embassy, both were still attired in their less restrictive exercise clothing – Winter in a demure white nylon skirt and sleek, sleeveless leotard that hugged her neck, and Leia in – tight, form-fitting leggings, soft leather boots, and an uncharacteristically revealing top; a lycra-and-cotton creation that pinned her breasts attractively, hugged her shoulders with thin straps, bared her abdomen and lower back –

In this version of the photo, her back was exposed; the holo presented a clear image of the gruesome bruise that bloomed over her lower spine, creating a shocking contrast from the light, cool white fabric of her work out clothes.

Winter looked apprehensive.

"Why did you wear that?" she asked, as if she had just realized that obviously something so skimpy would expose her old, scarred injury – she hadn't thought twice about it in their classes, the combat and the yoga – both were extremely elite, with female instructors Leia had known during the war.

Leia looked at Winter honestly.

"I wanted it seen," she said quietly. She pursed her lips, letting that sink in. "The same way I wanted it seen at the gala."

She watched as Winter turned the photo back to look, no doubt thinking of Leia's backless white dress from that gala – and she swallowed hard. Leia knew she had taken a risk in exposing that – the headline could easily have read – Princess Leia Bares All While Her Career Hangs in Balance – but it did not; some of the Media, some of her supporters at least, had come through as she anticipated, and the caption on that second photo was –

Scars on Princess Leia's Back Glaring Reminder of Imperial Brutality.

Winter bit her lip, clicked her tongue softly.

"It's bold," she said, looking up, holding the holopad to her chest for a moment. "Necessary," she murmured.

"I wish it wasn't," Leia said, with a hint of bitterness – why she had to so viscerally remind the galaxy that she had been personally brutalized by the Empire was beyond her, but when there were so many voices out there accusing her of colluding with the Dark Side throughout her entire career - she found it a political essential.

Winter sighed, and looked back at the photo.

"I admire your bravery," she said, and before Leia could reject the compliment, she cleared her throat and went on loudly: "Mainly for blatantly letting yourself be photographed in that – Pasha's already seen it," she said, "and Han's going to lose his mind."

Leia laughed.

"Han? Han, the man who, when he heard about those slightly blurry honeymoon photos, asked if he could have copies to paste to the ceiling of the Falcon? Han's fine. Now, Father – what do you mean, 'Pasha already knows'?" she quoted, arching a brow narrowly.

Winter grinned.

"Ah, well, as I was looking at the headline, I received a message from Evaan," she drawled. "It asks me if I have seen the photos," she said, "and," she turned the holopad for a final time so Leia could see an illuminated message – "It appears Pasha has made the irritated comment to Evaan that 'Leia has taken to walking around naked as some sort of coping mechanism.'"

Winter's eyes glittered, amused. Still dressed in the outfit, Leia glanced down, and gestured at her attire lazily.

"Naked?" she quoted, arching a brow in amusement. "He considers this naked?"

Winter nodded solemnly, pulling the device back and tucking her small holopad away between her hip and the cushions. She shook her protein bottle again, tilting it back and forth blithely.

"I would argue that Pasha considers anything that shows bare skin to be absolutely equivalent to nudity," Winter said logically. "The more bare skin, the easier it is to get it off and have sex, you know," she mocked sternly, shaking her protein at Leia as if it were some sort of punishing instrument.

Leia tilted her head, resting her chin on her palm, and taking a sip of her juice.

"I've had sex while wearing more than this," she retorted – Winter laughed, nodding wryly in agreement.

"What's the most material you've had sex in?" she asked, grinning wickedly. "Evening gown?"

Leia nodded a little.

"In a manner of speaking," she murmured. "My wedding dress," she answered. She flicked her hand casually. "Several evening gowns."

"Ah, really, the wedding dress?" Winter asked. She gave her a mischievous look. "Before or after the wedding?"

Leia laughed.

"After," she allowed. She paused, biting the edge of her cup.

Winter narrowed her eyes, arching a brow.

"When?" she demanded. "At the reception? I don't recall you slipping away."

Leia lifted one shoulder demurely, and then smiled a little.

"After I took his name," she said. She gave a twitch of her nose. "I took his name, he took Mrs. Solo."

Winter shrieked.

"That is so saccharine," she accused, squealing. "You're like a living, breathing, sappy romance novel."

Leia nodded solemnly.

"It is sincerely revolting," she agreed.

Winter composed herself sternly, and pursed her lips.

"I hope that exquisite gown did not sustain harm."

"No tears, no stains."

"Executed like a true Princess – no evidence of the deed."

Leia winked, and pointed a finger at Winter knowingly; Winter grinned, uncapping her shake and cheerfully drinking half of it, while Leia narrowed her eyes with a disturbed look. Winter shrugged at her easily – warm protein shakes and possible ripped wedding gowns were the least of their worries.

The two women sat in silence for a moment – comfortable silence, the kind of silence that was filled by years of companionship and trust – and so it felt right when Winter finally cleared her throat as Leia was setting aside her now empty glass, and directed the conversation to the more serious.

"So," she began frankly, but gently, "Your verdict is tomorrow."

Leia nodded. She rested her elbow on the back of the sofa, and turned towards Winter, cupping her cheek in her palm.

"So," she paralleled. "It is."

Winter narrowed her blue-grey eyes thoughtfully.

"Have you heard any whispers about what it will be?" she murmured.

Leia compressed her lips, thinking about the assessments she'd heard – if there was one thing the supreme courts were good at, it was keeping their lips sealed about closed proceedings.

"I've heard that opposition research went out four separate times to re-examine possible corruption elements in my work," she said tightly. "I am assuming they found nothing, as there is nothing there."

"What do you think is the likelihood of trumped up charges?" Winter asked.

"Minimal," Leia answered simply. She sighed quietly, pursing her lips with a sort of grim relief: "Once all of the Media chaos is sorted through and shoveled aside, there's less political blood thirst than there seems to be," she noted logically. "Primarily because the former Imperial-elite planets cannot seem to decide if they still hate me because I am the rebel who helped destroyed them, or if they're better off biding their time and seeing if my own side alienates me enough to turn me in their favor."

Winter snorted derisively, turning her nose up.

"I don't even have a response for that," she said tightly.

Leia arched a brow.

"They're deluding themselves, of course," she said. "Mon Mothma hasn't spoken against me, which keeps many neutral states calm – and Lando's pamphlet helped," Leia smiled a little wryly, "though now there are more than a dozen information requests for Rebel mission files on Bespin, and there never was one."

"Mon Mothma hasn't spoken for you, either," Winter noted quietly.

"Yes, well," Leia said – somewhat lamely, and without malice – she had yet to dissect her feelings on Mon Mothma's part in all of this.

She had brought her old mentor into the fold long before she announced her bloodline publicly, but she and Mon had never quite constructed a plan on what the Chief of State's reaction would be – Leia knew she needed the beloved leader's support, but she also knew Mon Mothma was in a precarious position – she had been elected, not appointed; she had votes to cultivate, and she had impartiality to consider.

Winter reached up to her shoulder and unwrapped the cloth knot from the end of her braid, beginning to work through untwisting the intricate design in her hair.

"The senate breaks for a rest session next week, if I remember correctly," she said slowly.

Leia nodded.

Winter paused, her fingers twisted in her hair.

"You arranged that on purpose as well, did you not?" she asked mildly. "Acquiescing to an inquiry – without being ordered to – with the right amount of time left to ensure it would likely end around the time the Senate breaks?"

Leia said nothing, and Winter arched a brow –

"And gave a public reminder of your treatment at the hands of the Empire – Vader himself – the day before you are required to be in court to hear the results."

Leia said nothing again, but parted her lips slightly, her expression serene, and alert. Winter leaned forward, abandoning her hair for a moment.

"Pasha is politically savvy, Leia," Winter noted quietly, "but you are brutal."

Still, Leia's silence continued, and Winter gave a soft whistle.

"I do not mean brutal in the sense that you're violent – "

"I know," Leia finally spoke. "I know what you mean."

Winter shook her head, awestruck.

"It's incredible," she complimented.

Leia gave a small smile – she had orchestrated things exactly as Winter suggested, and it was not something she considered deceptive, or manipulative – but strategic, a well-played game, as all politics were. The verdict would come down – and whether it was that she had done nothing questionable, or that she was corrupt to the core – immediately after the Senate would break, and there would be time to settle, analyze, and regroup.

She had stalled her work while the inquiry went on, and with it over, and a hard point to start from, and a Senate break to take advantage of – they could reenergize.

These past few weeks had been significantly exhausting, in the ways she had predicted – and so many more. She had never factored in security breaches so threatening she would move in with her father –

"You know what makes me feel awful?" Leia murmured, looking down at her lap. She avoided Winter's eyes as she went on – "That I am so bored to have only the Alderaanian issues to manage," she confessed softly.

Winter sighed quietly, trying to catch Leia's eye – Leia was aware of the action, but she tilted her head, still not looking at Winter.

"Well, you don't have to say that publicly," Winter said frankly. "Leia, you were never satisfied with just Alderaan. If you were, you'd have stayed in Aldera," she reminded her. "And you – lived without Alderaan and without just Alderaan for years, in ways Pasha and I haven't," she pointed out. "You coped and then you had to readjust all your coping."

Leia brushed her hair back. She nodded, and Winter sat back, combing her fingers through her hair – she finished loosening her braid, and then began twisting her hair around her hand.

"The planning for the opening of the Haven is coming along well," Leia said half-heartedly. She started to shrug, and then tilted her head back. "Winter," she sighed tiredly. She shook her head. She groaned. "I want all of this to – blow over, so I can move on."

Winter smiled, well aware of the intensity of chaos that had surrounded all of them since the announcement. She fidgeted, drawing her knees up under her, and cleared her throat, deciding a change of subject might be nice – nice, or detrimental; she would test the waters.

"Hey," she said softly. "I…don't know if this is going to distract you in a good way, or make you feel bad," she paused, looking cautiously at Leia, "but I – have something to tell you, and I've been – I suppose, waiting for one of the days when everything seems to be on the up side of the constant see-saw."

Leia tilted her head, combing her fingers through her hair. She blinked a few times, focusing on Winter, and tilted her head, curious.

"What is it?" she asked, somewhat amused. She couldn't imagine Winter telling her anything that would make her feel bad – unless she had inadvertently hurt Winter's feelings…?

"It's only that I know you're dealing with a lot, and the stress is overwhelming," Winter said, "and sometimes it can be – irritating, when you're having a hard time and other people aren't."

Leia shrugged. She smiled a bit wryly, suddenly thinking of her mother – she hoped Breha had raised her better than that; she didn't think herself someone who would take bitterly to another's good fortune.

"You have good news?" she asked. She breathed out, relieved. "I'd love to hear some."

Winter pushed her white blonde hair back, and tucked her face into her arm for a moment before looking up. She licked her lips.

"It's – small news," she said calmly. "Nothing monumental – and it won't help you with the Vader things – "

"Winter, now I'm curious! Get on with it," Leia encouraged, pursing her lips expectantly.

Winter flushed.

"Tycho asked me to marry him," she confided softly.

Struck, for a moment, with surprise, Leia's eyes widened, and she merely stared at her friend – and then she sat forward quickly, reaching out to touch Winter's knee.

"And…?" she breathed, searching Winter's expression eagerly. She watched Winter swallow, her face flushing pink again – pinker, this time.

"I've, I've told him yes," Winter said earnestly. "But I want him to ask yours and Pasha's blessing, just for silly traditional purposes – "

"Mine? Why?" Leia broke in, utterly distracted from her woes and the tribulations.

Winter laughed.

"You're the Princess. Technically I'm a ward of the royal family – tradition."

"Oh, right," Leia breathed. "You…you want to marry him?"

Winter swallowed hard.

"That's the thing, Leia, I never imagined I was ready to get married, but when he asked me, it was suddenly all I wanted," she said. She marveled at the idea, usually not prone to overwhelming emotions. "He feels like home, if you…know what I mean."

Leia nodded, a bright smile illuminating her face.

"I know," she agreed softly.

She leaned forward to hug Winter, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. She held her tightly for a moment, resting her forehead on Winter's shoulder, and turning to speak softly in her ear.

"He'll have my blessing easily," she whispered. "Winter…I could never begrudge you happiness, especially happiness like this."

She pulled back, and smiled at her friend – in fact, she relished it. What better way to deal with the vitriol and discord surrounding her and her character than focus on something this wonderful? A light, sparkling feeling coursed thought Leia's blood – she was absolutely sure this was exactly how Winter had felt, when she took Leia's hands and squealed after hearing that Leia was planning to marry Han – this was a well-deserved, hard-earned moment for both of them, girlish, normal, as simple as two childhood friends experiencing another milestone together, in the midst of everything else.

Leia pulled back, squeezed Winter's shoulders, and grinned.

"So," she drawled. "Tell me how he did it," she coaxed, arching her eyebrows.

To her surprise, Winter let out a hoarse laugh.

"You won't believe – ah, well, actually," she touched her lips, composing herself, and then winced. "Leia, we were – having dinner one evening, normal dinner, and Tycho said – 'Winty, do you want to get married?' – and I said – "

"'Winty?'"

"Yes, and I said – "

"He calls you Winty?"

"Leia, stop interrupting."

"I can't, I need to go back to Winty."

Winter glared at her, and then arched a brow.

"Don't make fun of my nickname," she ordered. "Don't make fun of my adorable nickname, Leia. You just told me your husband had to have you in a wedding dress because you took his name."

Leia compressed her lips, flushing, and waved her hand, indicating Winter could go on – and so she did:

"I told him yes – and a few moments later," Winter paused to laugh, "I asked him when he wanted to get married, how soon, and when I looked up," she broke for another giggle, "he was staring at me with this white face, and wide eyes, and he said he'd just meant – did I want to talk about getting married someday."

Leia covered her mouth, nose crinkling in embarrassed amusement. Winter nodded, biting her lip.

"I tried to rescind my comments, play it off, but Tycho – he was into the idea of going ahead and getting engaged," Winter trailed off, her eyes glittering – "so we are, and he is devastated he hasn't found a necklace for me."

"Oh, send him to Han," Leia said hurriedly. "Han's jeweler can find something – or craft something."

Winter nodded, her smile still wide, and shining.

"Perhaps I will," she agreed, and Leia reached out to take her hand.

"I want this for you so badly, Winter," she said.

Winter nodded, turning her hand over and squeezing Leia's.

"It might seem – arrogant of me to ask, but I – wondered if I might get married at the dedication of the Haven on Yavin," she ventured in a small voice. "There are already plans to hold traditional ceremonies – a burial ceremony, a christening," she listed.

"It isn't arrogant at all," Leia said, assuaging that fear immediately. "There is no better place for you – when you're ready to announce this to Father and the rest of the Diaspora, we'll begin plans," she said.

"You'll stand up with me?"

Leia laughed, her fingers tucked tightly in with Winter's.

"Of course," she gasped. "Who knew you would get married right on my heels – settling down after all, are you?" she teased.

"You had better watch your back," Winter fired back wryly, "I'll encroach on all your milestones."

Leia yanked her hand away, laughing, and pointed her index finger at Winter with mock sternness.

"Don't you dare have a baby before me," she ordered.

Winter laughed, covered her mouth, and leaned her head over, resting it on the back of the sofa. Her laughter faded, and she studied Leia for a moment, a smile still painted on her lips. After a moment, she tilted her head, and blinked a few times with interest.

"Hmm," she murmured. "Are you going to have a baby, Leia?" she asked.

Leia shook her head, and then paused, realizing that Winter was not asking if it was going to happen imminently. She sighed, and leaned forward, resting her arms on the back of the sofa, and her chin on her arms. She shivered.

"I don't know. I can't decide," she hesitated. "You know I've told you – a little about – "

"You and Han, fighting," Winter supplied gently.

"It isn't fighting any more," Leia murmured. She opened her mouth, then closed it – started to speak again, and then hesitated – and then shook her head once more. "I don't know," she repeated calmly. "I think Han really wants one," she whispered softly. "More than he says."

Winter nodded.

"I don't want to press you about it," she said simply.

Leia smiled gratefully.

"Do you want a baby?" she asked Winter – and her friend waved her hand as if it were an easy question.

"Two or three," she answered breezily, and Leia envied her the ease of that decision – to have no poison in her blood, no powers to contend with, no mental trauma to stalk her –

Leia stopped her thoughts there, lest they begin to border on resentful. She mustered a smile, fixing it on Winter again – this was one of those positive days, one of the days full of pros, rather than cons – and those were to be cherished, as they were desperately needed: she wanted to ride the high of it into tomorrow, when she appeared at the courts –

"Winter?"

Han's gruff voice came through the door, muffled, followed by a lazy knock on the wall outside the entrance of the suite – and Winter unfolded her legs, turning her head and sitting forward on the couch.

"Han, it's open," she called.

He came in, speaking even as he saw Leia –

"Is my wife in here?"

Winter gestured obviously, as Han gave Leia a charming grin.

"Ah, yes, Mrs. Solo is here," Winter said wryly, giving him a sly wink. Leia kicked her foot out sharply, missing Winter as she stood up, and swept both her empty protein shake bottle, and Leia's glass, off of the table.

"Would you like some ale?" she asked Han innocently

"Nah – well, uh, sure," he said, correcting himself, giving her a suspicious look.

He bent to kiss Leia's forehead, and then stood up, arching a brow at her and giving her a look. She tilted her head, her attention caught, and shifted, perching on her knees and rising up to look at him, the back of the couch the only tiny barrier separating them.

"You look brooding," Leia remarked.

Han gave a low whistle, the sound he made when he had discovered something he considered to be enticing news – and cleared his throat a bit dramatically.

"I went by Luke's place to see how he's doing," Han said, lowering his voice, "and there was a woman there."

Leia looked at him blankly for a moment, waiting for the interesting part – when Han said nothing, she arched one eyebrow slowly, and reached out to brush her hands against wrinkles in Han's vest.

"Haven't we established that Luke has women around his apartment more than either of us imagined?" she asked a little wryly – and hadn't that been discovered quite a while ago, at this point?

Leia shook her head.

"Why are you telling me this like you caught him losing his virginity?" she added lightly, delighted to have a reason to laugh some more.

Han gave her a look.

"The woman was there, he wasn't," he said pointedly.

Leia tilted her head.

"So what, Han?" she sighed calmly.

Han looked at her in disbelief, cocking his own brow. He folded his arms.

"That ain't one-night stand, fling sorta behavior," he snorted. "You don't leave casual partner alone in your home, give 'em free reign," he advised seriously. "Men don't. Can't speak for women, I guess, but men don't do that."

Leia looked hesitant, so Han turned his head, and raised his voice –

"Winter – you ever leave a guy you weren't serious with alone in your room?" he asked loudly, so she could hear him over the noise she was making in the nook.

Winter give a derisive laugh, immediately responding:

"Absolutely not."

Han turned a pointed look on Leia, setting his jaw – see? Leia frowned a little, looking up at him through her lashes. She felt taken aback, and shifted her weight.

"Who was it?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

"I don't know."

"What did she look like?"

Han shrugged. He held his hand near his chin.

"Tall," he said. "Redhead," he added. "Mean eyes."

Leia arched her brows, parting her lips.

"Mean eyes?" she repeated quietly.

Han only nodded.

"Luke's seein' someone," he said simply – the woman had opened the door, a look of bored amusement on her face, and her expression had become guarded and wary when she realized that Han was not whoever she had been expecting – Luke, or perhaps someone she knew.

Leia drew her hand up to her shoulder, plucking at her own sleeve. She sighed, looking at Han wordlessly – she had no working knowledge of Luke seeing anyone, though he was an extremely discreet person when it came to his love life – it was possible –

"Why wouldn't he tell me?" she murmured, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully – or even Han, at least; why would he keep it a secret? Her mood crashed abruptly – hadn't she just – "He smelled like women's perfume in my office the other day, and I asked him," she trailed off, her face falling – lips pursed.

She didn't want to accuse him of lying, but –

Han took her chin suddenly, and tilted her head up.

"Hey, I didn't mean to upset you," he said gently. "'M only investigating the mystery," he gave her a wink, and leaned down to really kiss her – he'd been so invested in his gossip when he finally found her, after badgering servants downstairs about where she was, that he'd forgotten.

Leia gave him a small, brave smile –

"Where's Chewie?" Han asked expectantly, narrowing his eyes – the Wookiee was supposed to be with Leia at all hours.

"He went to check on our apartment, after he escorted Winter and I back here," Leia said.

"That Wookiee is the smoothest flyer I've ever ridden with," Winter remarked, matter-of-fact.

Han gave an undignified snort, and turned to glare at her.

"What about me?"

Winter just laughed - said nothing, just laughed, and Han gave Leia an alarmed look, unsure how to take it. She leaned forward against the back of the couch and touched the edges of his vest.

"How was work?" she murmured.

Han grumbled.

"Pockets of Imperial violence cropping up with a vengeance in some of the more unstable sectors," he growled. "Rieekan wants to send me."

Leia grimaced, but said nothing – it was fair; Han had been home for so long – and it would look good, at this time, to have him still fighting under the banner of the Rebellion-turned-Republic –

"And I'm their figurehead," Leia joked dryly.

Her tone was mirthless, and Han pressed his hand against her neck.

"Sweetheart," he soothed gently.

Leia compressed her lips grimly, and then stood, straightening her shoulders. Han came around the sofa and sat down in Winter's spot, and Winter sashayed back over, handing him a glass bottle of Corellian ale –

"Cocktail hour," she said smoothly. "I've thoroughly de-stressed Leia all day, Han; you may take over now – have her mellow as a tipsy lothcat for the verdict tomorrow, you hear me?"

Han snorted.

"Yeah, I think there's a thing or two I can do – 'cept she's too afraid ol' Viceroy will overhear."

Winter clicked her tongue.

"Still depriving him?"

"He is not deprived," Leia maintained, turning her nose up.

Han made a whining noise, and Winter laughed. She sat down on the arm of the sofa next to Han, and Leia pushed her hair back, debating whether she should sit back down, or leave Winter and Han to chat while she went in search of plans for supper, or – or for Luke –

Han leaned forward and set his glass aside, sat back and started to say something, and then abruptly fell silent, his eyes fixed on Leia – he tilted his head, suddenly distracted, and reached out, his fingers brushing her hip – her bare hip, and his palm running over her exposed abdomen to the hem of her cropped top.

"What is this?" he asked, almost reverently – as if he had just noticed, only just now really focused on what she was wearing.

His palms slipped up her ribs more, exploring, and his eyes widened. He sat forward, captivated.

"You look," he muttered, almost to himself. "You look," he said again. "Look at you."

"Is he broken?" Winter quipped.

Leia flushed, and gave Winter a look through her lashes as if to apologize – she tended to forget that Han was so easy to visually seduce, and she never wore her exercise attire around him – not for lack of interest in it, she just usually changed or was wearing something over it.

"Leia," he almost whined. He looked up, his eyes darkening appreciatively. "You look hot."

She blushed, and ran her fingers through his hair roughly.

"Han, Winter's here," she reminded him.

Han shrugged, and bent forward to kiss Leia's abdomen. Leia giggled and squirmed away; Han caught her and pulled her close –

"Ah, there are photos, Han," Winter sang. "Brace yourself – she wore that in public."

Han arched his brows.

"Latent teenage rebellion rearin' it's," he paused, and smirked, "ah, I don't want to say ugly, considerin'," he joked. "Rearin' it's head?"

Leia collapsed onto his knee, reaching out to rest her hand on the back of his neck. Winter leaned over, nudging Han's shoulder with hers.

"Try – sharply executed, silent political statement," she said breezily, and Han gave Leia a wordless look.

She tilted her head at him, and parted her lips, straightening her shoulders.

"My back," she said quietly. "I wanted it seen."

Han contemplated that for a moment, easily identifying what was so poignant about her back. He looked at her for a long time, and then slid his arms around her middle and pulled her closer, resting his forehead against the center of her chest – the gesture lacked sexuality, and instead was full of respect, and admiration, and Leia pressed her fingertips into his neck appreciatively, looking at his bowed head, and then up at Winter.

Han lifted his head, and looked at her stubbornly, his jaw set fiercely.

"They're gonna clear you tomorrow, Sweetheart," he said. "They're gonna be sorry they ever went after you."

Leia touched his cheek, and then pushed her hand through his hair, summoning a confident smile, an armored expression of easy confidence that she'd been trained to project her whole life – and needed more than ever, now –

She nodded, savoring this day as – yet again – one of the positive among countless negative, and seized on it, knitting this feeling into her skin for now – to buoy her into the politics of tomorrow.


Leia was no stranger to the courthouse; she had seen it many a time as a young girl, as a Senator – she had presided over closed proceedings in it as a newly minted Ambassador. It was a familiar place for her – a place that symbolized justice, and fair argument, and the carefully controlled legal liberation of the galaxy. She had stood on the illustrious, ancient stone steps so many times before to give remarks, answer questions – and now, just inside the rotunda that lead out into the sprawling outdoor dais, where the press gathered – she stood, prepared to face them –

Cleared of any suspicions of corruption or wrongdoing.

Her mouth ached with the effort it took to keep her expression calm and collected – as she fought with a bright, almost vindictive, smile, she vacillated between allowing it to show, and remaining as neutral as possible. She was not quite sure what the best image would be at the moment – she had known all along that there was no corruption to her name, and so part of her felt that the best face to present was one that was unsurprised – not necessarily bored with the proceedings, but elegantly disdainful of them because the inquiry had been so insulting and so unnecessary.

Yet she was so often accused of being so emotionless and relentlessly inscrutable, another part of her thought now might be a key moment to show she was not all thick skin and efficiency; she had been worried for her career, and worried her allies would abandon her though they had to know she was still the person she'd always been, regardless of her blood, and her public revelations.

She stood with Tavska at her elbow, Chewbacca standing as unobtrusively as possible off to the side, watching her like a hawk – he was able to give her a wide berth at the moment, as they had not yet exited to the swarm of Media on the steps.

Next to her, one of the special members of the inquiry council approached, and Leia turned, deciding for a moment to allow the smile out as she reached out to clasp the hands of an old – ah, well, she called him a friend; but he'd often been an adversary –

"Garm," she said gently, disposing with the formalities – during the inquiry, she had referred to him simply as Councilor Bel Iblis.

"Your Highness," he responded, giving her a small, tired smile in return – he was older now, and the lines on his face were harsh and unforgiving; his appointment as lead investigator for the inquiry had likely been Mon Mothma's one subtle act in support of Leia.

Garm Bel Iblis, one of the original founders of the Rebel Alliance, certainly bore no love for Mon Mothma; he disliked her, he disliked her politics, he hadn't trusted her since he had broken ranks with her after the – now defunct – death of Bail Organa – and he had always considered the Princess of Alderaan to be one of her staunch allies and Chandrilan-brainwashed cohorts – yet he was a moral man, a shrewd man, and a supporter of anything that was not the Empire – and so he had been a strategic choice.

There was no way for him to be believably accused of being in the pocket of Leia's people, because he had publicly denigrated her collusion with Mon Mothma in the past, however – there was no fear he would allow an inquiry to deliberately concoct charges against her that did not exist.

She pressed his hands between hers now, inclining her head – he had personally questioned her on the day she had gone to chambers to answer for everything in her books, and he had been probing and acerbic, not backing down – yet he was also the man who had used his ultimate overrule vote to end the investigation when it became clear to him that the inquiry was a misguided witch hunt.

She agreed to a special investigation, and we have found nothing even remotely out of the ordinary – we will not waste resources creating a problem where there is not one - !

He was a noble man – and Leia hoped to thank him somehow, in the near future – when she got her footing back, dug her nails back into the foundation of her power; she would find away to integrate Garm back into the fabric of this New Republic, because though he may not have fought with their Alliance, he had fought for freedom just as they had, and with Bail back in the picture – a smoothing of ruffled feathers might be possible, and Leia thought it would be pleasant to see the original trio back in each other's good graces.

"Now that my impartiality mandate has ended, I wish to tell you that I was relieved to find nothing of concern in our inquiry," he said gruffly. He shrugged, withdrawing his hand from hers after a polite moment. He folded his arms at his waist. "I did not expect to," he said bluntly. "I always thought you rather infatuated with Mon Mothma, for most of your youth, but in the past year or so you've bucked her authority enough in some respects that I rather like you."

He gave her a sharp, wry smile.

"Or perhaps it just amuses me that one of Bail Organa's illustrious, elegant old blood relatives married one of my rough-and-tumble countrymen. He was always more of a snob than he let on."

Leia smiled, her eyes on his steadily.

"Are you sure about that, Garm?" she asked. "My adoption was never quite a secret, but as well all know now," she paused pointedly, "I am far from Organa blood."

Bel Iblis gave a rough sort of shrug.

"If you'll excuse me being rather crass, Ambassador, it makes more sense that you're a product of the late Senator Naberrie's dalliance with a rogue Jedi than that you were a bastard of the Viceroy's," he said – crass indeed, and Leia's brows went up.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, amused.

Bel Iblis smiled wryly.

"Your pacifism was weak," he said prudently, "you never clung to pleas of peace for as long as your compatriots on Alderaan – I'd even argue you used it as a front, on occasion, for your more violent dealings in the later days of the Rebellion," he mused, tilting his head. "That is not to say you were ever carelessly violent."

He thought another moment, and then snorted.

"That, and Bail Organa is, and always will be, a prude. He never would have been unfaithful to his wife."

Leia smiled thoughtfully – interested in Bel Iblis's assessment of her, and delighted by his perception of her father – she, too, thought it unreasonable for anyone to think he had ever dishonored Breha.

"Rogue Jedi?" she quoted succinctly, repeating the words delicately. "That seems a bit – ah, generous, considering."

"Would you prefer I call you the offspring of the devil, Ambassador?"

His response was sharp, and quick, his brows going up with interest.

Leia said nothing.

"Did you know them?" she asked, narrowing her eyes intently. "Senator Naberrie and General Skywalker?"

"I worked with her," Bel Iblis answered. "In the Senate, as Senators do – Naboo was an inconsequential planet, until it wasn't," he noted mildly. "I never worked with Skywalker."

He was silent for moment, and then went on –

"I did work with Vader. As I worked with Palpatine, while in the Imperial Senate," he said, inclining his head, "as did you, and I will tell you without reservation that I do not give a damn about the connection," he said.

He was quiet again, and then a grimace spread over his face as he struggled to speak his next words –

"My…late – wife," he said harshly, though the tone was no doubt to keep emotion out of his words, "was an Imperial. We disagreed on much, yet I loved her dearly. She was murdered all the same. The same was true of my children."

He shrugged simply.

Leia gave him a critical look.

"What do you say to these accusations leveled against me, that I am yet another threat disguised in innocence?" she challenged. "Sheev Palpatine took control by elected consent – deceived the galaxy – does it sound plausible to you that I, as a blood relative of Darth Vader, have been playing a lengthy game all along, to re-invigorate an Empire I pretended to defeat?"

He looked at her for a long time, and then – to her surprise – his face lit up in a wildly bright grin, and he laughed, reaching out to clap a hand on her shoulder. He shook his head raucously, and leaned forward.

"I am not sure where to begin dismantling that conspiracy theory, but I'll start with telling you I do not consider you innocent, and not disguised, Princess Leia," he said, giving her a wry smirk. "You know what you are doing – and if that was your long game, you would not have revealed any of this until your power was secure."

Leia compressed her lips, and Bel Iblis stepped back respectfully, executing a small bow – forward at the waist, respectful without being unctuous –

"I have immense respect for your transparency," he said, speaking louder than he had been – and Leia noted it drew some attention, voices quieting. He straightened up, and looked towards the doors. "This court has not found you culpable in any manner, private or political. I am afraid that makes it my duty to hand you back to the most unscrupulous court in this galaxy," he jerked his chin at the doors. "The Media."

Leia clasped her hands, and inclined her head at him as he turned to go, turning to face Tavska – she took a deep breath, and as she let it out, she found herself converged on by a small handful of others – Chewbacca, moving closer – Evaan, here as Alderaan's support, while Bail hung back away from the courts at Leia's behest – she did not want him attached to this inquiry; she wanted full control of it – Lausta, Leia's head of security, and Pooja – Pooja, who took Leia's arm in hers, and smiled fiercely.

"I've already reached out to the Queen," she noted. "She's issuing a statement on Naboo, which will be forwarded and published – you have Naboo's support – oh, and I'm sure that quote of Bel Iblis' won't go unnoticed," she added, turning and giving the man's back an impressed look.

"It was fairly poignant," Leia agreed, reaching over to touch Pooja's hand.

She bowed her head a moment, leaning closer.

"How is Ruwee?" she asked.

"Coping," Pooja said honestly, and smiled gently, keeping her own voice low. "He worries for us, and for Padmé's legacy – but I can tell you, as I've been telling you, Naboo has no patience for any smearing of their beloved Queen Amidala."

Leia nodded, giving a brighter smile. She straightened up, and squeezed Pooja's hand – Pooja had been integral in the politicking of it all, ensuring she kept the support of her people, as well as many of her closest friends in the Senate – she assuaged their wariness, and if not entirely convinced them, kept them from deserting Leia altogether – and Ruwee was an excellent bastion for Luke, and a good personal aspect of the whole story.

The Naberries as a whole were such a strong, incredible family, such a resource, and Leia was grateful for their support – near and far – through all of this, particularly since it could not have been easy to go from their self-imposed obscurity to recaptured infamy in a matter of weeks.

There were many things she wanted to do when the storm of this all faded – and she looked forward to it doing so, now that this peak seemed to be over – this shining verdict followed by a few days of positives; Lando's Pamphlet, and then the picture of her Death Star related injuries – yes, many things she wanted to refocus on after the maelstrom, and one of them was another sojourn to the Lake Country to bond with her relatives again, if they would have her—or she would host them here, on the City Planet, though she doubted that was quite as appealing.

"Your Highness," Evaan said demurely, stepping forward and indicating the wide doors leading to the outside. "They'll want to hear remarks."

Pooja nodded, and cleared her throat, looking back at Tavska.

"Do we have any prepared?" she asked kindly.

Tavska inclined her head respectfully.

"None, Senator Naberrie," she answered warmly. "The Ambassador has elected to speak extemporaneously."

"Ha," Pooja snorted. "Well, I hope no one gets on your bad side," she said smugly, and as she stepped forward, Lausta made a move forward, and Chewie stepped in line with her, clearing a path for Leia to exit the courthouse and face the madhouse –

The shouting started almost instantly, as soon as the tip of one of her pointed heels broke the threshold – she had chosen feminine styles for today; neat, expensive heels, a sapphire gown with gold accents, and a hairstyle that left wisps of hair in her face – muted make-up, save for the bold lashes that made her eyes look sharper than usual.

Lausta, a narrow expression on her pinched face, took up a position offset to the front right of Leia, eyeing the crowd, and Tavska stepped up alongside her to mediate questions, a holopad balanced gracefully in her palms.

"Princess Leia – where is your father today? Why was he not here for the verdict?"

Leia turned towards the question and paused for a moment, considering the question.

"I felt it would be counterproductive to suspend all work whilst we wait with bated breath for a verdict," she said levelly. "He is currently continuing to focus on the vast demands of the Alderaanian Council. The Diaspora mustn't suffer for my political misfortunes."

"Was he worried about the verdict, Ambassador?" another voice called. "Did he perhaps think you might be found in violation of corruption laws?"

Leia answered simply:

"No, he did not."

"Your Highness," came another voice – the fray was loud, and buzzing, and yet reporters seemed to easily give each other a moment to shout their questions – "You've been declared free of wrongdoing – what's next?"

"Business as usual," Leia quipped. "I imagine I have a plethora of messages and requests to answer."

There was a smattering of laughter. The roar of chatter started again, and Leia tilted her head a bit, trying to catch sight of Chewbacca – crowds made him nervous, and if he gave her a subtle indication that he wasn't comfortable with the mass of people, she could cut short the session of remarks –

"Princess –

"Ambassador – "

"Your Highness – "

The titles rang out, questions shouted over each other – she heard questions about Han, inquiries about how she felt about certain new conspiracy theories – had she seen the latest comment by so-and-so, had she seen the latest cartoon – did she want to comment on her treatment on the Death Star –

"Your Highness, if you could speak a little about what it's like to find out that your father was a tyrant who tortured you – "

"Bail Organa is my father," Leia said simply, skating over the question to the next one – she heard that reporter try to protest, but she ignored it; Bail Organa is my father – it was her stock answer, but it was a true answer: he had raised her; he had made her.

"What do you say to people who want to know how you can keep from being corrupted by the power of the Force in the same way that Vader was?"

Leia gave a demure, thoughtful smile to that question –

"My brother is the authority on those things," she said.

"You have a certain Force sensitivity as well, do you not?" the reporter persisted. "And you're in a position that could easily be corrupted by that power – "

"The Force does not corrupt; evil choices do," Leia answered swiftly.

She turned towards another as a few more questions were volleyed towards her – Do you have any comments on the Chief of State's silence? Do you think you being cleared will put an end to the political mistrust? Are you going to run for office once your Ambassador term is up? Do you think it is correct to assume you did not reveal this prior to being nominated because you knew it would derail – Do you have an answer for accusations that you slept with an Imperial officer to spare your life on the Death Star?

In the midst of carefully constructing an answer to the question concerning political mistrust and the positive findings of her inquiry, one of the questions in the screeching cacophony brought her thoughts to a grinding halt, brought her mind to utter silence – silence, but for the sudden blood rushing in her ears as her eyes involuntarily snapped in the direction she'd heard –

Had – she just been asked –

She made eye contact with a short, balding, male reporter who seemed to have pushed his way to the front row, and he stared back at her with a glinting, amused sort of malice in his eyes.

Leia was incredibly skilled at dealing with reporters – she was cool, collected, and full of poise – deflected incendiary questions effortlessly – but there were things she – even she just wasn't prepared for – nowhere in her prep sessions had she imagined someone would – why would it be asked in the first place?

She kept her eyes on him icily, compressing her lips – the smile she'd been fighting vanished somewhere deep inside her, and she felt herself, voluntarily or not, summon her cool exterior, armoring her expression— and she said to him –

"Repeat your question."

He bowed his head obsequiously and looked up, smiling at her with chipped, uneven teeth.

"Your Highness, there's an Imperial source offering information that you slept with a military officer on the Death Star to ensure your own safety."

Leia stared him, her heartbeat crashing in her ears.

Slept with – ensure your safetybut I wasn't safeslept with? – Her mind howled: is that what you want to call it – ?

She managed –

"What is your question?" – stressing the last word.

He gave her a sneer.

"Did you?"

She couldn't hear anything but a sort of – klaxon-like wailing in her ears, and she felt like she couldn't breathe – who had said – and what could she –

Quite abruptly, she was jerked back into a moment from – months ago, a year ago, when she had presided over the sentencing of an Imperial officer who had spit at her, and suggested –

You weren't so high and mighty when Tarkin had you on your knees.

Her stomach twisted sharply, painfully – Luschek, she thought – remembered telling Han – the worst part is finding out Tarkin shared stories – How many Imperial officers had heard grotesque, second-hand stories of Princess Leia on her back on the Death Star floor –

She wanted to scream.

"PRINCESS LEIA!"

The shout of another reporter was the only thing that saved her –

"What do you have to say about your brother's opinion that Vader is redeemable?"

This one seemed not to notice that she was in – near complete vapor lock, seemed not to have heard the question that silenced her – and yet she knew others had; she saw the looks on their faces as they stared, first with startled interest at the reporter, than at her, hesitantly waiting for answers.

Leia felt the male reporter staring at her, noting her silence – appearing suddenly at her side, moving so swiftly Leia hadn't seen her step back, behind her, Lausta slipped her arm into the crook of Leia's elbow.

"I'm taking you to the Alderaanian Embassy," she said coolly, giving her a sharp tug.

Leia closed her eyes, and whirled around, looking for Chewie – Han had him on her at all hours of the day, but she needed to tell him to leave her, find Han, and sanitize Han's Media intake more than usual –Han would lose his mind if he heard – and she didn't want him in trouble –

"Your Highness," that slick, oily voice again, viscous with a bitter attack. "Is it true or not?"

Leia was looking at him again, inadvertently drawn back.

"You were scheduled for execution on the Death Star," he pressed loudly, "did you or did you not trade sexual favors for your life, even at the price of Alderaan?"

Suddenly her search for Chewbacca was over – he was roaring, nearly deafening her, lunging at the culprit of the question, and Leia's nails scraped against his fur, tangling in desperately, as she called out sharply to hold him back.

"Chewbacca," she shouted above the fray, "do not hurt him."

Her command was instinctive, at its core purely to protect Chewbacca from litigation and from trouble, but some part of her, too, saw the political advantage in preventing injury to someone even after he said such heinous things – she knew she was in no way strong enough to hold Chewbacca back, but he obeyed her command, and the reporter was cowering, with a Wookiee snarl in his face, when Leia considered him.

The clatter of the crowd had faded to a sort of grim whisper, and Leia stared down the offender, with nothing on her lips, utterly unwitting of how she looked in that moment – was she pale, red-faced? All she saw when she focused right now was the face of an Imperial officer; all she felt was a knee jammed into her thigh, a hand grabbing the back of her neck and tilting her head up.

The man gave a short laugh.

"That isn't a story you would want out there, is it?" he taunted.

Leia bared her teeth, provoked – and at the very least, she was eloquent, even if it was the last thing she wanted to say –

"There is not a single aspect of my imprisonment on the Death Star that I consented to."

It had an edge of a snarl to it, though she was proud to hear no tremble in her voice – and Lausta removed the man, while Tavska stepped in and effectively ended the impromptu press conference.

Leia was viscerally aware of the world around her, too aware; Evaan and Pooja were at her sides as Chewbacca escorted them all, aggressive and protective, towards a secluded area on the courtyard dais – she knew Lausta would be handling detention of the harasser while Tavska arranged for Leia's transport to be brought around – and Chewbacca towered over her, shielding her from any errant holovid.

"Leia," Pooja whispered, dipping her head close, trying to catch her cousin's eye – "No one could believe something like that," she comforted.

Leia looked at her briefly, and then found herself unable to look at her for very long at all – her gaze skipped to Evaan, and the blonde woman looked back at her tiredly, her expression sharp with understanding –

"Will they have any records that could make their version look correct?" Evaan asked neutrally.

Leia compressed her lips. She held out her palms – she didn't know. She had never been involved with the teams that combed through Imperial records and handled historical archiving – perhaps in the War Crimes libraries, they had something on her, but she doubted it – she had been so high profile, and so politically contentious a prisoner, that she was almost positive anything gruesome was known by word of mouth, not official record; they would have wanted deniability.

Evaan nodded, stepping closer – shoulder-to-shoulder with Pooja, she surrounded Leia with Chewbacca at her other side, protecting her – an Alderaanian woman, having just heard that, making eye contact with her leader.

"I know that is not what happened, Leia," she said softly.

Leia looked away. Chewbacca was in front of her like – a shield, an impenetrable safety net, and she reached out for him, her hands curling around his bandolier – he looked down at her, and she wanted to tell him to go, make sure Han did not hear about this before he heard about it from Leia herself, but no words came. Chewbacca placed one of his heavy paws on her head, somehow making it feel so light and gentle, and Leia closed her eyes.

She felt ambushed. She felt – somehow, defeated, and yet, bitterly unsurprised, that this day of victory had plummeted back into the depths of vitriol. It spoke to the very nature of the politics of all of this maneuvering and mudslinging since the reveal – the good was so hard to find, and the bad easily massacred it.


Politics – the word had become so unbearably loathsome that Han was damn near unable to hear it in any language without having to quell some violent physical reaction – such as a clench of his fists, his jaw, a raw urge to slam his foot into a metal wall or swear up a storm. Politics – there were good and bad aspects to it, though he rarely saw the good; the bad was glaring, obvious, starkly vicious and brutally ugly – the good, he supposed was better disguised; subtle, perhaps.

He knew there was good in the political world because Leia thrived in it, Leia devoted her vast intelligence and her relentlessly good heart to it, and because of that, Han knew there was some inherent value to governance and the games that went with it – he had seen the good things Leia had effected with her works, and he often found himself wanting to see her do more, wanting to watch her wield her power in the democracy she so firmly believed in.

Politics had treated her more cruelly than usual as of late, and Han was unforgiving – initially, he had been the one who had to be reigned in, ultimately kept shielded from the constant barrage, because it had provoked him, and set him too on edge, made him wild with anger, and his distress had hurt Leia. When he had reached the brink of tolerance with it, he'd found a justified outlet to unleash it on, and Leia had guided him toward a plateau – and then her composure had threatened to crash, when they were forced to seek safety with her father, and she was forced to relinquish her duties temporarily while she was investigated.

It had all swirled until Han and Leia both were subjected to extreme filtering of the Media muckraking, which was easier to do for Leia when she was secluded away from her office, and was always somewhat easy to do for Han, as his military duties often took place in secure areas where holos were on classified systems that did not access frivolous Media or external source.

Sanitized as his exposure to the Media was at the moment, Han had itched to absorb himself in it on this particular day – when he knew Leia's verdict was being handed down by the courts, and he had no idea if Garm Bel Iblis was going to preside over a court that cleared her, or screwed her.

This verdict was, for all intents and purposes, a turning point and a key choke point in Leia's political battle: it would be the springboard from which they made their next decisions and mapped their forward path.

She was unblemished in terms of her record, of that Han was sure – he just had no faith left that the galaxy loved her as much as he did.

He had been bitterly disabused of the belief that no one would give a damn about her heritage in light of all the good she had done, and he had lost much of the optimism that fight in the Rebellion, and seeing it succeed, had given him back.

He remained on Coruscant, following Leia's lead, an outlier in the machinations of it all – watching her bear it, increasingly wary that she was fueling herself in the wrong way – he wanted nothing more than to escape with her to Corellia so she could breathe for a second, and feel something.

He'd seen – a look in her eye that reminded him of how emotionally constricted she had been back in the early days of her father's return; she slept fitfully, though without nightmares, and he was one sleepless night away from confronting her; she was shaken by all of this, and she didn't like that she was, because she had readied herself for it.

Well, Han wanted to close a door somewhere, and let her be shaken for a day or two – and he didn't make the mistake of thinking those around her were pressuring her to be perfect; what troubled him was how good Leia was at convincing those who knew her fairly well that she was entirely fine and in control – no doubt her father, and Rouge, and even Luke, admired her coping abilities, while Han watched her go through her days thinking – Oh, come on, Sweetheart, come cry on me for an hour, your feelings are so hurt.

He had tried to ensure today was inundated with work to do so he was occupied and distracted until Leia reached out to him and told him she was cleared - he expected it to be short, simple, celebrated later – and yet he fell short of productive, and after a meeting with Rieekan and Madine in which it was decided he was needed to head up a garrison deployment to hold the peace in an Imperial insurgency sector, sequestered himself in the Falcon's hanger, and then towards the end of the day, returned to the Embassy.

The Residence seemed empty, not altogether unusual – and he went straight for a hot water shower to scrub off the oil and grime, lingering longer than he normally would while he wasted time, listening vaguely for sounds of movement in the suite, or the Residence as a whole.

He felt agitated, and unsure why – there was no way Leia would be indicted, or accused of anything – she was one of the most honest politicians he knew; she had publicly given a family history just to assuage any fears about her, and yet –

Anger boiled in his blood for a moment, and he tried to quell it – it would blow over, it would blow over and they'd all remember who she really was.

Han stood in the 'fresher, face upturned, wasting hot water and lazily deciding if he wanted to stand there wasting more – when the flimsy door clicked open softly. He blinked a few times, reaching up to wipe his eyes, a little taken aback that he hadn't heard anyone outside the 'fresher. He felt a hand curve lightly around his bicep, and turned to face Leia – he certainly hoped it was Leia, though there was a chance Rouge had gone stark raving mad –

He pushed his hair back, stepping forward so the steady spray of water hit his back instead of dripping over him – and it was Leia, and she clutched his arm a little tighter when he faced her – steadying herself, so as not to slip on the slick floor.

He started to greet her with an alluring smile, but stopped short –

"Leia," he started, taken aback – she moved closer, slipping her arms around his waist. "Leia," he mumbled again, unsure if he should laugh – "You forgettin' something?"

He lowered his hands to her shoulders, fingers smoothing over the straps of her bra - she was still wearing her underwear set, and he wasn't sure if it had just slipped her mind, or – why else? He couldn't think of why else.

He turned his head slightly distracted, and saw that the door was still open, and just outside the threshold in the bedroom, Leia's gown from this morning lay in a blue heap on the floor, wrinkled and discarded.

Leia's hands slipped over his ribs lightly. She stared at his chest. Her brow furrowed.

"I…don't want to be naked," she said slowly, without so much as a greeting. "I feel a little vulnerable."

Han rubbed her shoulders.

"Why'd you get in the shower?" he asked, stepping back a little cautiously. He didn't necessarily want to crowd her if she felt on edge.

Leia stepped closer though, immediately reclaiming the space. She splayed her hands on his back and rested her cheek on his shoulder, pressing closer and closer for a moment.

"You're in here," she said, just barely loud enough to be heard over the water.

"I'd be out in a minute," he quipped, resting his hands on her shoulders gently. "It's the 'fresher, not hyperspace."

"Han," she answered in a pained voice. "I don't want to be around Father or Rouge, I - I had such a – such a bad day," she said, her voice cracking.

She pressed her face against him tightly, her lips shaking. Han's stomach twisted with dread, and he steeled himself - Leia had been - so calm and stoic through most of the Media commentary. If they had finally broken that armor enough to send her seeking him out like this, it had to be bad.

It couldn't possibly be that her inquiry had condemned her –

She took a deep breath and looked up at him, resting the pads of her feet lightly on the top of his.

"Will you wash my hair?" she asked, blinking in the spray of water – Han gave her a slow smile, and nodded - his instincts told him she wanted to talk about it, whatever it was - once she washed off the proverbial slime.

She felt a little unfamiliar, tucked against him in the soaking wet cloth of her bra and underwear, and she only loosened her grip on him a little as he moved around to get some of her shampoo. She shifted her head, took a deep breath, and pressed her forehead into his chest – when he slipped his hand into her hair and started to massage a lather of soap into the thick tresses, he felt her close her eyes, her lips trembling against his skin – not in a kiss; perhaps in an attempt not to cry.

He took his time washing her hair, making it a careful, soft massage – and he shifted their positions gingerly to rinse the soap out, careful of their footing so neither would slip on the tile. She faced him as the water cascaded over her, opened her eyes – there was soap gathering on her eyelashes, so he supposed the redness could be from the sting of it – but he doubted it, as he doubted that all of the water on her face was from the shower.

He stepped forward to smooth his fingers through her hair, rinsing out the last of the lather, and he spared a moment to bend down and kiss her temple, taking a deep breath as he reached behind her and shut off the water.

When the water vanished, the sound of it tapping against the 'fresher around them evaporated, and they were left in silence – and Leia stared at him a moment, her hands wrapping around herself; she shivered, and then she tried to take a deep breath, and tipped her head back, bursting quietly into sobs.

Han cleared his throat and reached out to wrap his arms around her, holding her loosely for a moment while he checked her expression. He ran his hands up and down her sides, and then slid his arm around her waist, tilting his head.

"You're cold," he muttered calmly. "C'mon, Sweetheart," he coaxed.

She stepped out of the shower with him gingerly, and he grabbed a towel and handed it to her – she was shaking slightly even in the steamy 'fresher, and he gave himself a quick towel-off before nodding his head again, beckoning her into the bedroom.

He pulled on a pair of his more casual sweatpants, and rummaged around for something for her – when he turned back, Leia had taken a seat gingerly on the edge of an ornately carved heirloom trunk in the corner of the room, her body bowed forward as if in defeat.

Soft, long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of her pants in hand, he went over and sat down next to her carefully, resting a hand on the back of her neck.

"Leia," he murmured. "Leia," he called quietly, trying to get her to look at him. "Hey, hey," he soothed softly. "What's going on?" he asked gently. "Are Rouge and Bail here?"

She had said she didn't want to be around them – said it was a bad day – he had minimal guidance on what sort of support she needed at this moment, and for a moment it left him scrambling, before he remembered it was easy to stay calm, be there, and take her cues.

Leia lifted her head a bit, and shook it back and forth.

"Offices," she murmured. "I left," she said. "I," she paused, gritting her teeth. "I couldn't take it anymore."

Han was silent, nodding. He ran his hand down her spine slowly.

"The inquiry went bad?" he asked finally, his tone dull.

To his surprise, Leia's head snapped up, and her eyes were wide, raw, as she looked at him.

"No," she said hoarsely, confidently. "No; it went as it should have," she murmured simply, giving a harsh shrug. "I was cleared."

Han's lips pulled up in a half-smile, but it was uncomfortable, wary; she was right, that was how it should have gone – but he dreaded finding out what had upset her so badly, if her career was safe for the time being – she had talked for days about how the end of this inquiry would be an invaluable movement in the right direction.

He said nothing, wracking his brains –

"Are they going after Luke?" he asked warily.

Leia merely shook her head, and Han was torn between pressing her, and simply waiting. She was silent for a while, and he cleared his throat again.

"Leia, where's Chewbacca?" he asked lamely – he felt it was the only meaningful thing he asked her these days, so absorbed was she in her politics, and so useless was he when it came to that sort of thing –

"He's downstairs," she burst out, recovering her voice. "He stays with me, Han, like you ask him to," she promised, and then looked at him, a strange expression on her face. "He nearly beheaded a reporter today."

Han – gave her something between a smug smile, and a wary grimace, unsure how to react.

"What happened at the courts, Leia?" he asked – and her response was so swift, so readily given, that he was shocked, because even a healed Leia was often difficult to talk to if she still felt cornered or wounded, and yet –

"I was asked if I slept with an Imperial officer on the Death Star in exchange for a stay of execution," she gasped, the edge to her voice wavering between unadulterated anger, and utter disbelief.

Han was still looking at her with wariness when she said it again, repeated –

"Han," she choked, "I was publicly asked if I fucked an Imperial officer."

He would have expected his immediate reaction to be a fighting stance – violent swearing, threats on his lips, and yet he looked at her, hearing the words, and all he felt for a moment was the almost irrepressible desire to cry. He gazed at her, sitting there in her short, white towel, wrapped around damp, wet underwear that she'd felt too uncomfortable to take off even with him, and he felt like crying.

He may have lacked the immediate desire to kill whoever had said something so vicious because he had come to the debilitating realization that he was simply never, ever able to protect her from this – from any of it, the initial act, or the residue.

He moved closer, swallowing hard, and reached out to touch her face as gently as he could, turning her towards him with soft fingertips on her jaw.

"Leia," he said hoarsely.

She looked up at him through her lashes, and closed her eyes, pressing the towel against her chest. She laid her head on his shoulder hard, parting her lips to breathe easier while she cried – harsh, hiccupping sobs, and Han rested his chin on her forehead lightly and let her rest all her weight against his side.

She couldn't speak for a long time, and when she did, her voice was raw –

"That will be the leading sound bite of the day," she managed to get out, "it will overshadow everything else – "

Han nodded, leaning back a little and catching her eye. He wanted to tell her no one would believe it – but he didn't have it in him to lie; if he'd learned anything throughout all of this, it was that some would believe whatever they wanted to, whether it was based in fact or not.

She started to say something else, struggled with her tears, and then turned her head to the side for a moment, staring down at the decorated top of the trunk they were sitting on.

"I never prepared for – that – "

Han reached out to catch her hair in his fingers.

"What did you say?" he asked quietly.

Her lips trembled. She moved her lips without sound for a moment, as if trying to remember, and blinked a few times.

"I can't – it's a – blur," she whispered. "I said – something about never consenting to anything in captivity."

Her face flushed, and she compressed her lips.

Han nodded.

"Yeah," he said heavily. "Doesn't seem like a bad answer," he started uncertainly – dryly – and Leia turned to him sharply.

"I can't navigate this sort of question, Han," she bit out hoarsely. "I can't. If I say nothing – people may think I did something that – hideous – and if I speak to it, I have to – I have to," she broke off, losing her train of thought, and then when she spoke again, it was shy, and uncertain – "I would have to speak to rape."

Han shook his head. He touched her jaw again, leaning forward to press his forehead lightly against hers.

"You don't," he countered flatly. "Not if you don't want to."

"I cannot let it be believed – "

"You already said enough, sounds like," he snapped. "You know these – bastards – they'll think what they want no matter – "

"Evaan thinks I should make a public comment," Leia gasped. "Nothing descriptive, but an – allocution, of sorts – Pooja agrees. To counter any chance of the Media having sole narrative control. To ensure political sympathy."

"They said that to you?" Han growled, bristling a little. "They want to make this about politics?"

"Not in so many words," Leia said, closing her eyes tightly. "You have to understand – no, no, Evaan and Pooja are angry; they want me to tell the truth, to fight back – they're smart women, they know I didn't – sleep with – "

"Anyone in their right mind knows that!" Han nearly shouted, reining his volume in when Leia flinched.

He reached for her again, and Leia drew in a harsh breath, her expression dark.

"We were in the offices strategizing damage control, and I – I couldn't breathe, I had to leave – Rouge said she was sure you came home early, that you were up here – "

"I'm here, Sweetheart."

"Rouge," Leia spat, and Han was startled with the anger in the tone. "Aunt Rouge is in hysterics, in tears, so scandalized," she said harshly. "Her poor royal niece, savaged by those Imperials – her sensibilities are devastated and, and," Leia stumbled over her words: "It did not happen to her."

Han simply listened to that one, tilting his head and holding her arms in his very lightly – he turned towards her more, easily in her line of sight, his knees pressing into hers, and Leia bowed her head and breathed in and out, steadying herself –

"I am no novice when it comes to this," she ground out unnecessarily – Han knew how politically skilled she was, "I am well aware that I could garner a damn near sinful level of sympathy support by talking about this."

Han was hesitant.

"You aren't the only woman," he started, and Leia nodded.

"I know," she said, voice cracking. "I know, Han, and maybe Evaan's right, and I could even help other women if I said something, but I – there's a lot I would do for the sake of careful political moves, and I – I don't want to do this. I don't want to. It's - is it that simple? I just don't want to."

She sounded so tired, and so angry. Han reached out for her, and she caught his wrists, her eyes on his desperately.

"You think I should?" she asked. "You said I'm not the only woman," she quoted. "You said once I should have talked to a professional," she reminded him.

"Leia," he started hesitantly. "I don't know," he began, trailing off. "They can't attack you with it if you do, I guess. I want," he started. He shook his head, at a loss for what to say. He had never thought Leia was obligated to talk to anyone - about anything. He'd felt - humbled, when she confided in him; he never felt like it was his right to know certain things about her.

He sighed heavily.

"Is that what you want to do?" he asked gruffly.

She stared at him with an unreadable expression on her face for a long time, so long he'd thought he'd lost her – thought she might shut down, compose herself in that cool way she sometimes did, and return to the proverbial battlefield – then her shoulders fell, straightened again, and she shook her head once, violently.

"No," she said emphatically, her voice cold – firm with conviction. "No," she said again.

She licked her lips, reaching up to push her hair back – her towel slipped, and pooled in her lap, her skin drying, and covered in small, subtle chill bumps in the cool air.

"You know what Evaan said?" she asked. "'There is no shame in it'," she quoted huskily.

Leia swallowed hard.

"It's not shame. It is not shame. I do not feel any shame. There is a concept out there that anything one will not share publicly is their shame. Yet there should not be a tax on my privacy. I do not have to tell the whole galaxy I was raped to heal. That is not mandatory. There are people – who would salivate over that fantasy," she paused, her face flushing hotly, "and I am not going to give it to them. I will never talk about my body or my relationships or my trauma publicly. It does not exist to make others feel better. It's not a gory accessory. It does not exist to make me sympathetic. I do not owe it – to anyone."

She pressed her lips together hard, staring at him, and Han held her gaze, giving her one hard nod, looking at her for a long, intent moment – savoring her expression, her tired and breathtaking beauty in this moment –

"Yeah, Sweetheart, you sure as hell got that right," he told her hoarsely – he loved her more than anything, then, relieved she had taken it upon herself to keep some part of herself for herself, and not for the public – he, who hadn't even thought she was required to tell her family secrets in the first place.

She smiled a little, and lunged forward for him again, wrapping an arm around his neck, and Han caught her, pressing his lips to her brow. He closed his eyes and tucked his nose into her hair, mumbling a little incoherently against her, soothing words –

"You don't owe 'em a damn thing, Leia," he growled softly. "You've given 'em enough."

She pulled back, earnest.

"I owed the galaxy plenty, Han," she countered honestly – she licked her lips, and bit down on the lower one heavily for a moment. "I did owe them transparency about – where I come from; who I am – what the political risks are," she listed. "The Vader – revelation, it was different," she implored. "You said it," she said. "That was something they could attack me with, damage me in a completely unrecoverable way if it was out of my hands."

Han shook his head heavily.

"They hurt you with this, too," he noted grimly, his brow furrowing - he didn't always understand the difference, in what she wanted to reveal, and what she did not.

Leia nodded, her lips shaking.

"The words do not compare," she murmured – they do not compare to the physical violation.

She bit down on her lip, and Han leaned forward on his knees, pushing his face into his palms for a moment.

"I don't think you have to talk about any of it," he said bitterly. "You – know what you want, when it comes to this stuff – I don't know what you want me to say," he said. He sat up a little, looking back at her.

She looked back at him, her eyes soft.

"You always say the right thing," she quipped, lifting one shoulder simply. She took a deep breath, and looked down at her thighs, running her hand over them. She twisted her fingers into her damp towel, bowing her head a little as a few more tears slipped over her cheeks. "I was blindsided," she whispered shakily.

He knew – she must have been; he had watched her prepare for everything, and yet never had she hypothetically confronted a purely sadistic question like this. In all the rehearsals she and Winter had done to get ready for this – consideration had not been given to sexual accusations.

Leia closed her eyes lightly.

"I am not going to speak publicly about it," she said, almost to herself. "I," she trailed off, her voice cracking. "I have to find a way to live in a world where there are beings who think – that I slept with an Imperial officer for my own life."

Han reached over and grasped her knee, conflicted – he understood what that turmoil must be like for her; wanting, no doubt, as violently as he did to dispel any notion that she had done such a thing – and he didn't care because he had any jealousies over the idea, but because he did not want Leia smeared as heartless and nasty; he also knew that Leia had come to terms with what had happened to her at the hands of the Imperials, and the last thing she wanted – the last thing she needed – was her experience to be a public forum for others to comment on.

Leia simply did not operate that way when it came to her private life.

Han shifted, moving off of the trunk and kneeling before it. He rested his hands on either side of Leia's thighs and looked up at her, smiling softly when he caught her eye, and lowering his head to kiss her knees. Leia took a deep breath and reached down to tangle her fingers in his hair, savoring his presence.

Her lips trembled as she bent to kiss the back of his neck, and then straightened up.

"I shouldn't be so hard on Aunt Rouge," she said stiffly, and Han looked up at her thoughtfully, draping an arm over her knees and leaning on them. She grimaced, though – "Her dramatics, though," Leia said in a strained voice. "It felt – almost voyeuristic – like I was suddenly a tragic heroine in one of her soaps."

Leia's lashes fluttered.

"It's lurid and that can be – exciting, to protected classes – "

"Leia," Han murmured gently. "Rouge is not happy you were assaulted."

"I know," Leia said edgily. "I know she – doesn't know what to do, and I'm reacting to that but that is," she grit her teeth, and burst out – "That is exactly why I do not – discuss – I don't want to be defined by – trauma!" She pressed her knuckles together and tucked them against her chest. "People - do not know how to react, or behave, around me when this sort of thing is - out there," she broke off for a moment, her lips trembling. "You're an outlier, Han. You never made me feel alienated. But that's rare," she took a deep breath, "and it's bad for me. I don't want to be saddled with constantly trying to make other people feel at ease because I was raped. I want to move on."

Han nodded, and rested his jaw on her knee, looking up at her silently. She gathered the towel in her hands a bit sheepishly, pulling at threads, and then pulled it up, tucking it around her, and she lurched forward, her face falling quickly – almost guiltily.

"I want to go home," Leia whispered earnestly, pressing her hands to her chest, and then pushing them outwards, as if trying to illustrate her words. She clenched her teeth, eyes on his intently. "Han, I want to go home," she repeated.

She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, swallowing hard, and then went on:

"Our home. This isn't home. It doesn't feel like home. It was never even homey when Alderaan existed, it was a state house, and now it's - it feels like a mausoleum, even with living people in it."

Han slid his hands over her knees, splaying his palms over her thighs soothingly. She dipped her head, holding the towel to her chest tightly, and he felt an aching sense of relief as she started to talk, as her shoulders fell and she seemed to loosen up, to start unraveling –

"I can't be myself here. I can't…walk around in just your t-shirt, I can't," she shook her head and sighed, struggling with it.

She felt confined; like she had no outlet, and Han had sensed it very early – she was tense with her Father, tense with Rouge, walking around composed even when the work day was over and she was safely behind private doors.

Han ran his hands over her gently, his chest tight. He hadn't felt her relax in weeks, and it had been eating at him – he was the one who had insisted they come here, for her safety, worried as he was, and it hadn't been good for her from day one – the physical security of the Embassy juxtaposed itself directly with the emotional safety of their home.

"It's your family, Leia," he said quietly, trying to offer some comfort, "they won't mind you bein' normal you."

Leia tossed her head.

"My non-public normal is not the same as it used to be," she hissed delicately, and leaned closer. "I mind. I want some - some goddamn privacy. I'm - Han, I'm so," she sighed, and grit her teeth, and he saw the fear in her eyes as she struggled with her next confession:

"I'm so angry," she whispered, cringing.

Han looked at her for a moment, and felt a surge of triumph – Yeah, Sweetheart, you are angry – this whole ordeal has treated you like shit, and you ought to scream –

"Okay, so be angry."

He took her silence for reluctance, and bared his teeth provocatively.

"Be pissed, Sweetheart," he coaxed, his tone cool, and tempting – he nudged her knees with his elbows, nodding his head.

Leia have him a slow, lingering blink - and mimicked his growling expression slowly, the snarl spreading across her lips, and Han nodded again.

"Leia," he ground out through gritted teeth, his eyes narrow. "You've put up with your friends slanderin' you, with offensive investigations; you talked about things you didn't want to talk about – they called you names, they've told lies, they've used your honesty for petty politics – "

"I prepared for this," Leia broke in.

"I don't give a damn," Han retorted. "You prepared for it, you got ready for the worst, and they had the nerve to give it to you? After all you gave them? You've got a right to be pissed," he said aggressively. "You got to give into it a little bit – you got to rage a little, Leia," he said.

He swallowed hard, and then drew himself up to his full height – as tall as he could be, on his knees – and pressed his palms down on her shoulders.

"You're so damn hyperaware of the Vader connection right now, you're not lettin' yourself be human," he said sharply. "You – you told me yourself, you've got to be perfect, collected, calm – fine, give 'em that in public, but give me the anger," he encouraged. "Come on, get angry – I'm pissed, too," he said, "you know how I was at first – all pent up, losin' my mind."

She nodded, captivated by him – he needed her to remember that repression had never helped her before; it had only haunted her, hurt her in the end, and she could do all she needed to do in politics, but she had to leave it at the door – when she was alone with him, she had to remember – even if Bail heard her – it was okay to scream and swear and be furious with those who were so fickle, and so hell-bent on tearing her down.

"How long's it been since you screamed, Leia?" he looked at her intently – there was a double meaning to his words, and she didn't miss it; she didn't have any interest in sex at the moment, but she knew as well as he did that she had hardly derived any true pleasure in bed in the past few nights, and it had everything to do with the tight confines she was putting herself in during the day. Too many evenings of her whispering in Han's frustrated ear - not your fault, Han, not your fault -

Her lips parted, and she shook her head – not since the first day or so after the reveal; while here she was hampered in her ability to – as she said, really be herself, the person that she was in her core after the war, after the loss of Alderaan, after the Death Star –

Han leaned closer.

"Leia," he breathed, "tell me how angry you are," he tempted.

"I don't want to be controlled by my anger," she said huskily.

"You don't have to be," Han said flatly, "you just have to feel it – c'mon, you can't move on until you feel it – that's how it works sometimes."

"Is it?"

"I don't make the rules."

She gave a choking laugh, and Han reached up and cupped her jaw in his hand. He moved closer, pressing his lips to her jaw, moving his mouth to her ear, whispering in a low growl – just be angry – it's just me, just me, you're alone with me, baby –

Leia grabbed onto his shoulders tightly, closing her eyes, and setting her jaw. She sat back, gasped, her eyes blazing, and gave a frustrated, half-groan, half-scream –

"They can't treat me like this!" she forced out, her eyes dark. "I have bled for these people. I have been merciful to people who deserve death – I have devoted my life, my adolescence, to the war, and to this Republic, and the accusations they make – the things they say – "

She shook her head, her claws out now, and Han reared back, watching her, nodding encouragingly – like a fight coach, provoking her own, his own expression fortifying in how he agreed with her –

"It would be easy, it would be painfully easy, to be exactly like Vader," she hissed, "tyranny is so easy – and even if it is in my blood, I am strong enough to resist – I'm tired of the Media, I am sick of free speech, if that's the hateful way they're going to use it – "

Han leaned forward on her knees, wrapping his arms around her thighs tightly and listening, listening to every word, a small, wry smirk on his face – he let her go, let her say whatever came to mind, whatever she needed to – she could say things as threatening as they came, and yet he had no fear of seeing her fall – one of the things he had always loved about Leia was that she felt things as passionately as he did, and yet her self-control was leagues more powerful than his – he thought a woman with her power, and simultaneous lack of corruption, was an astounding thing to behold.


At Varykino, Ruwee Naberrie had made his peace with Bail Organa and the actions he had taken two decades ago. He had sent the Viceroy on his way, his feelings of bitterness somewhat assuaged – and with quiet apprehension, he had prepared himself and his family to support Luke and Leia on Coruscant when the time came to reveal. Through all of that, though he had remained cordial with Bail, he never anticipated – or intended – to develop the kind of relationship with him that would entail sitting down and commiserating over tea.

Yet, at what was perhaps the crux of the fray surrounding their families, he indeed found himself settling in for tea with the Viceroy – and in the weary hours of the evening, he chose to focus on the things they had in common – wronged daughters – than the things that left a contentious wedge between them.

He had come to see Leia, if she was available – he had already paid a visit to Luke this afternoon, and the young Jedi was distracted, a little sullen in his effervescent way – he had been going to meditate, and Ruwee graciously excused himself.

He was out of luck with his granddaughter as well, it seemed; Bail had graciously welcomed in to the inner chambers of the Embassy residence, but given him an apologetic grimace of a smile –

"Leia, ah, isn't receiving," he remarked, and then winced, as if he realized it sounded archaic and elitist; reminiscent of the way his hierarchical class spoke amongst each other.

Ruwee nodded, hesitating stiffly in the foyer – and Bail gestured him in.

"Ruwee, stay a while," he offered sincerely. "I'm sure Pooja is handling things politically – there's no need for you to isolate yourself from us."

And so – Ruwee stayed, taking the seat he was offered in the vast sitting room, accepting the friendly pastime of drinking tea while lamenting something troubling – and he was able to at least say hello to Han, and pass his regards to Leia, as Solo was leaning over a sofa, speaking to Rouge when Ruwee was led in.

"You're quite positive she's alright?" Rouge was asking, and Ruwee shared a glance with Bail – Bail shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Yes," Han said – and his tone implied it was the umpteenth time he had told her that, "she doesn't want to talk about it, Rouge," he said edgily.

"I don't want to – hear a soliloquy from her – "

"A solilo – Kriff, Rouge – "

"Don't swear at me."

"She doesn't want you looking at her all – mopey – "

"Am I not supposed to look at her ever again? Han - !"

"She needs one damn day, for fuck's – "

"Han," Bail interrupted narrowly. He tilted his head at Ruwee, indicating they had company, and then turned a look on his sister. "Rouge, Leia can be alone if she wants to be alone. Let her be for a little while."

Rouge straightened up, standing to greet Ruwee like the well-bred lady she was.

"I only want to see her," she huffed quietly, extending her hand to Ruwee. "Ruwee, lovely to see you," she said tightly. "Though the circumstances of your being on Coruscant have been consistently grating, have they not?"

Ruwee nodded in agreement, giving a small respectful bow over her hand. He looked past her shoulder at Han.

"Will you pass my regards to Leia, Han?" he asked kindly. He paused, and then cleared his throat. "If it will offer any sort of comfort to her, will you tell her that her mother would have been proud of her?"

Han blinked a few times, the irritated look on his face fading – he seemed to appreciate Ruwee prefacing his statement with a request that Leia only be told if it would actually help. Rouge turned her head curiously –

"There's not a day that goes by that Breha wouldn't have been proud of her – "

"Rouge," snapped Han, before Bail could step in.

Bail hastily cut Han off with a shake of his head, sensing a nasty comment on the tip of the former smuggler's tongue - the Viceroy cleared his throat, as Ruwee said:

"I was referring to my daughter, Lady Organa."

Rouge paused.

"Yes, of course," she said swiftly. "Senator Naberrie – yes, both of them," she began, and Bail held up his hand.

"Rouge, would you mind stepping out to fix some tea?" he asked kindly – and she nodded stiffly, compressing her lips – relieved to be rescued for a moment to compose herself.

Han shook his head, and then reached up and rubbed his forehead tensely, looking back at Ruwee after a moment.

"Yeah, I'll tell her," he said bluntly. He gave a good nod in Ruwee's direction. "It's not that she doesn't want to see you," he offered. "She's," he paused, waving his hand.

Ruwee held up his hands.

"No explanation needed," he said honestly. "I don't begrudge Leia her personal space."

Han smiled tightly, and nodded. He pushed away from the sofa he'd been leaning on, crossed his arms, and turned to Bail.

"I'm gonna get her to eat," he said, brushing his knuckles against his jaw as he spoke to Bail. He shrugged. "I don't think she's gonna fight me – and then we're goin' to bed." He looked up and held up his palm. "She's alright, Bail, you hear me?"

Bail nodded.

"Believe it or not, I do take your word for these things, now," he quipped, and Han gave a wry, distracted smile, waving his hand – he gave another nod to Ruwee before turning and leaving – Ruwee heard his heavy boots on the stairs as he disappeared into the labyrinth of suites within the residence.

Bail sighed heavily, and Ruwee sat down with him, glancing around the Viceroy to the path Rouge had taken out of the sitting room.

"The ups and downs are constant, are they not?" Bail asked dryly, sitting forward and resting his forearms on his knees.

Ruwee nodded, his palms curved around the arms of his chair tensely. He took a moment to relax, and lifted his chin, looking at the spot where Han had stood.

"He seems calm," Ruwee remarked mildly. "Has he been made aware of what Leia was subjected to this afternoon?"

Bail glanced over his shoulder at where Han had been, and turned back. He nodded.

"Leia excused herself from our Council meeting after the fact," he said. "She's been up in her suite ever since – you seem surprised Han's aware," Bail noted. "Why?"

"Well," Ruwee said delicately, "he was quick to defend her, aggressively, when I said my uncouth piece at Varykino," he explained. "I would have expected him to - be out for blood, to put it bluntly."

"I have no doubt that he is," Bail said grudgingly. "He knows it won't change anything or do Leia any good." Clearing his throat, Bail leaned back a little, looking around as Rouge returned with a tray of tea.

Ruwee nodded, his expression grim.

"I was at Naboo's Senate offices, when the footage was broadcasted," he murmured, accepting a cup of tea from Rouge with a kind nod. "Heinous," he said simple. "Vulgar."

"It is a fraudulent charge," Bail said, and Ruwee's head snapped up earnestly, his expression confident.

"That I know," he said shortly. "That question was leveled at her with no intention of receiving any sort of answer. It was a humiliation tactic – the premise so blatantly false, that the truth was obvious without a single comment from her."

Bail looked miserable, as he accepted his tea, and Rouge sat down tiredly, her hand going up over her face.

"You told me explicitly that the Grand Moff's remarks last year were nonsense, Bail," she said hoarsely.

"I lied," Bail said flatly.

"How could you – "

"You were better off not knowing, were you not, Rouge?" Bail interrupted sharply.

He turned to look at his sister, and she wiped tears from her cheeks, setting her shoulders back and meeting his eyes. She bit her lip shakily, and shook her head.

"They hurt her worse than I possibly imagined," Rouge whispered.

"It's the imagining of the galaxy that irks Leia, I'm sure." Bail answered heavily.

Ruwee cleared his throat, looking down at the steaming liquid in his mug.

"What is disheartening to me – is the very idea such a thing could be used to humiliate her, in the eyes of the people," he compressed his lips tightly, anger, and sadness, coursing through him. "Leia is not at fault."

"No, certainly not," Bail said.

There was a long, heavy silence, and Ruwee cleared his throat.

"Is this – something that is on record, and was kept under wraps?"

"It is not on record," Bail said stiffly. "Leia does not talk about it."

"How," Ruwee began – and Rouge nodded, speaking up with him as well – "How?"

Bail shook his head, and spread his hands out, fingers twitching.

"Word of mouth," he muttered – that was what Leia assumed. "Han knew. I knew," he paused, "those who treated her after the Death Star – suspected."

Ruwee was silent. He brought his tea to his lips, uninterested in discussing it more – all he knew was that he experienced a devastating lack of surprise at the implication of things Leia had been subjected to, and he felt sorrow for her, like he felt sorrow for the suffering his daughter had endured. He reached up to rub his forehead, and Bail sat back, looking ahead of him with a hollow expression.

"Another thing you may resent me for, Ruwee," he said quietly. "I certainly blame myself."

"Bail," Rouge said hoarsely, wiping her face again. "This was not your fault."

"No," Ruwee agreed, swift and honest. He looked at the Viceroy without animosity, and with a calm expression. "The more I am surrounded by all of this, the less resentment I feel towards you, Bail – you did what you could to protect her."

Bail said nothing, and Ruwee felt a kinship with his silence – the silence of a man who, on many a logical level, probably knew that there were things always beyond his control, and yet could not resist blaming himself – just as Ruwee had never stopped feeling guilt over the way he had gloried in Padmé's intelligence and political acumen, pushed her towards greatness - somehow, felt that everything had happened to her after her election as queen was his fault, even when her choices were so wholly her own.

Rouge looked over, and with a polite clearing of her throat – elegantly guided the conversation, as was one of her many talents.

"How is Pooja, Ruwee?" she asked. "And the rest of your family?"

Ruwee inclined his head.

"Pooja is well. She is…not subjected to the same level of attention as Leia, or even Luke. She focuses her energy on trying to make this conversation more equally about Padmé, since Vader overshadows it all – she strives for that, and Naboo supports her in it," he paused, and smiled gently. "My family is well. My wife is a formidable woman, and so is my elder daughter, Solo. The little ones – well, they hold their own with sheer optimism. It is hard – even for reporters – to be cruel to children who see nothing more in the reveal than the excitement of being related to heroes."

Rouge gave a watery smile.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "I should like to meet them – Luke encourages us to integrate our families, though it might mean some growing pains," she explained. "I do like children," she noted softly. "Many of my fondest memories of Leia are from her earliest years."

Ruwee smiled.

"My granddaughter Ryoo is very determined to bring the little ones to the Alderaanian Haven, when it opens," he said, "and Leia has mentioned a second visit to Varykino, a more open one, once this all dies down some – perhaps you will join her."

Rouge smiled again, and leaned forward to take up a mug of tea that she had been letting cool.

"When this all dies down," she quoted listlessly. "Will it, do you think?" she looked between the two men – both of them intelligent, both of them more immersed in this world than she was – and hoped for an optimistic answer.

They both hesitated, and then Bail spoke:

"All things eventually fade," he said slowly. "Even the most explosive of scandals, so to speak, lose traction – the galaxy moves on," he explained, "and they will move on from this."

He paused, and compressed his lips tightly.

"The question is – "

"Where will Leia be when they move on," Ruwee supplied – not quite interrupting, but gently finishing Bail's thought, and the Viceroy nodded grimly, his shoulders sagging.

"Yes," Bail agreed, muttering: "where will Leia be when the dust settles," he paraphrased – there was a bitter edge to his tone.

It was Rouge who spoke in the silence that followed, soft, but a little indignant –

"Right where she is now," she said, a forceful whisper. "Leia is good for this galaxy."

Bail laughed good-naturedly.

"We all believe that, Ro," he agreed warmly. "It seems many suddenly beg to differ."

Rouge shook her head.

"You needn't enlighten me, Bail, I'm aware," she said tiredly. "I have never found myself so at odds with old friends of the Elder Houses – they are so disdainful of her blood, and yet nothing has changed about who she is," she broke off. "I find myself thinking twice about every comment I've ever made about Han's crudeness. He's never treated Leia poorly because of – Vader."

Bail nodded, smiling wryly.

"It's rather frustrating to be shown your snobbish faults by a former criminal, is it not?" he asked knowingly, having experienced that himself – and gotten over it more quickly than Rouge had, for Leia's sake.

"Maddening," Rouge said faintly – and Ruwee laughed.

He sat forward, holding up his hand.

"Do you know what baffles me?" he asked, dumfounded. "Did you know – there are whole pockets of beings that simply do not believe that Luke and Leia are the children of Anakin Skywalker – Darth Vader," he said, eyes wide in skeptical annoyance. "They shrug it off. They simply respond to opinion polls with – 'that is just another rumor.' And yet those people are not the ones most vocal, center stage in the news," he mused.

Ruwee set his teacup aside.

"Instead, front and center – we have – these who believe Luke and Leia are in collusion with the Empire, or those who simply want to paint them with black brushes to seize Leia's power – Imperials who want to use her as an unwilling figurehead to be a rallying point – "

"That is working better than some think," Bail said heavily. "General Rieekan is going to send Han to monitor an insurgency sect in the Western Reaches," he revealed grimly.

Rouge caught her breath.

"Carlist can't take Han away from Leia right now," she said stubbornly.

Bail waved his hand, placating her.

"It isn't immediate – and Leia is aware," he soothed.

Ruwee nodded, rubbing his jaw in disbelief.

"Not to mention there are these – inexplicable Vader – fanatics who had some eerie obsession with him, and now want to hero-worship Leia – never mind the fact that she has given no indication of any interest in Vader, much less a pardon of him or an argument for his innocence."

Again, Ruwee shook his head, and Bail snorted –

"All sorts, all sorts," he mused. "And yet you're right – it is never the innocuous ones that are the vocal majority."

Ruwee scoffed, his jaw tightening.

"It feels naïve to say I had hoped – that the Media – the galaxy would prove me wrong, and rally to her, rather than getting into the sewers of gossip and sensationalism."

Bail gave a long sigh.

"Ruwee, I think even a part of Leia had hoped for that," he said heavily. He thought about it for a moment, and then went on: "And I think, in some respects, we still must cling to that optimism – if we are to have any hope of keeping ourselves honest as we go forward."

"Spoken like a true pacifist," Ruwee said wryly, and Bail raised his glass to toast his peer, a small, resigned small on his face.

"I seek out the good things where I can," Bail said honestly. "It bolsters me – the Alderaanian Diaspora stands with her still, and so does Naboo – and we must remember that so much of this is not even necessarily personal; Mon Mothma loves Leia, and yet has been silent in many respects to preserve her political position – and others are just using negative leverage to bolster theirs."

Ruwee looked bitter.

"That I understand, but politics aside for a moment – there should be more speaking out for her, rather than still letting the Media rule it all, and anticipating where she might end up as it fades away – Mon Mothma most of all."

Rouge lifted her hand sharply.

"I agree," she snapped. "I understand that woman is in a precarious position, as Chief of State – yes, Bail," she said, as he opened his mouth, "I understand more than you think – but she owes Leia a statement. She owes my niece her loyalty. Politics be damned."

Rouge paused, her expression thin.

"She was a part of this, too, was she not?" she asked, her tone clipped, eyes on Ruwee. "From the very beginning, she sought to buck the Empire, and she used Leia to help her do it – and if she does not speak for her soon, then I have half a mind to decide Gam Bel Iblis was right when he accused her of intending to grab power for herself."

Bail closed his mouth, staring at his sister with a mildly surprised look, and Ruwee's brows went up with mild amusement – and delight, he was delighted with such a speech, as he agreed with it.

"Mon Mothma has, on many occasions, been righteous to a fault," Ruwee noted.

"I will speak in support of her in some respects, though," Bail said mildly. "Her appointment of Garm Bel Iblis as special prosecutor was directly to aid Leia – many assumed he would destroy Leia just to spite Mon Mothma, and others were sure he bore a grudge against Leia regardless. When he presided over a committee that cleared her – it looks cleaner than anything else."

Ruwee nodded.

"I said she was righteous. I did not say she was stupid – nor," he said wryly, "am I convinced she is silent of her own accord – I would not put it past Leia to have asked Mon Mothma make no comment until an opportune moment."

Bail smiled wryly.

"Neither would I," he said. His smile became a little heavy. "I have no knowledge of it, if she has," he said, going on slowly: "I have – inquired as to Mon's reticence, and she informed me that she had initially advised Leia against revealing this. I think – they are at odds."

Ruwee shook his head, shrugging tiredly – he hoped that was not the case

"Advising Leia against this reveal was a mistake," he said. He rubbed his forehead. "Leia has been right since the beginning – things have a way of coming out; they always do – as she experienced roughly today."

Bail nodded, and met Ruwee's eyes.

"It was always better that she be the arbiter of this narrative," he said quietly.

"Braver," Ruwee noted. "It was brave."

Bail cleared his throat.

"Padmé certainly would have been proud," he affirmed. "She was there at the beginning, too – one of our original Rebels," he said gruffly, "and Leia has continued her legacy."

Ruwee returned the Viceroy's gaze strongly – he did not need to be flattered about Padmé; he valued his daughter more than anything, and he had never doubted her good works and what she stood for.

In return, he said –

"Queen Breha would have been proud, as well."

Bail inclined his head gratefully – and Ruwee sat back, content to continue with this tea, and this reflective conversation – they were two patriarchs of influential, tragedy-prone families, and they were becoming elders, legacies themselves – watching the generations that followed them fight their own battles and – if fate were kind – win them.


Leia had wanted to get out of the Embassy Residence, and spend the night – just this one night, for some respite in a familiar, valuable privacy – on the Falcon. Han had convinced her otherwise – Han, unexpectedly, had argued against the Falcon, and in favor of staying put where they were: in this safe haven, though his trusted ship was more than safe – he told her, persuasively, that the only way to overcome the alienation she felt in the family circle was to be herself, as she was now, even it was an adjustment for them at first.

She lay next to him now, gazing up at the sleek canopy that arched over her – and contemplated how right he was; listening to his soft, not-quite-snoring – he'd somehow fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder – she wondered, without any real sense of wonder, how he had gotten so smart.

The suite they stayed in was one that had been hers by right and by experience; it was the sanctioned Embassy quarters of the heir apparent of Alderaan. The antique bed was one that had been in the Organa family since before she had ever been a part of it; it had been damaged in the sack of the Embassy, restored by Aunt Rouge's care – Leia had slept in it as a child, as a teenager, and – more rarely – as a young adult; when the royals were on Coruscant, this is where she had stayed – and now, Leia stayed here a different woman than she had been then.

Those had been days when the intimate core of the family was the safest place for her, a young darling of the elite; where her mother had simply been her mother, rather than the queen – and her father had been her father, rather than the Viceroy – Winter had been a sister, and not a lower ranking foster sibling – part of her distress recently had been the jarring memory of all that, clashing with how uptight she felt around her father and Aunt Rouge now, even after hours – in private.

She knew – she had known since the day of their return, and all through the readjustment process, that things were never going to be as they had been; it had been easier to cope with and ignore when she lived separately from her family, and was not repeatedly confronted with the differences. Han was right when he told her – yeah, Sweetheart, it ain't ever gonna be like that again, but that doesn't mean you have to keep it together around 'em – make 'em get used to it –

Condition them, in other words, her father and Rouge – and even Winter, to some extent – to the full reality of who she was now – and she liked, she liked who she was now, even loved herself; it was simply that –

She had been comporting herself in the manner she knew they expected was natural, in the manner of the Princess they had known in her youth, instead of truly relaxing and using her private time to recharge.

Bail had seen her – at the worst, surely; he had been there after her meditation with Luke, and he had been there for one of her nightmares, but she had still been metering her post-war personality around them – and it was exhausting her; grating on her.

How long has it been since you screamed, Sweetheart?

Leia smiled a little, tilting her head and biting her lower lip – when she shifted, her nose brushed up against Han's forehead, and his steady breathing stuttered a little; he turned his head, rolled off her shoulder and onto his back, his soft snoring rising in volume just slightly.

That question had summed it all up – Bail and Breha's poised, elegant daughter would never have stormed home from work and screamed at the top of her lungs to release some tension, only to follow it with a glass of whiskey and some off-colour banter with a lover – but Leia thrived on that sort of wildness now, and she had felt torn between Han's Leia, and the Leia of her childhood, while here.

Physical safety – juxtaposed with emotional safety – it was the simplest way to put it, and while this evening had given her some relieve – Leia still wanted to go home.

She took a deep breath, watching Han sleep for a while – he had stayed secluded with her tonight; fended off her father's worry, made sure she ate, made her laugh, listened to all her burning frustration and poisonous rage – taken her to bed and damn near driven her to tears with his tongue – some sort of clandestine thrill, coursing through her as he made love to her in her childhood bed – and she hadn't worried about anyone hearing her; that was part of deconstructing her tension, was it not? - she was married and in love and as interested in lust as any other woman, and there was no need to blush and demure and act as a paragon of virginity –

It hadn't mattered tonight; it was one of those nights – Han made her come so intensely she couldn't make a sound, she could only hold onto him – hands in his hair, teeth on his shoulder –

Leia reached over and touched her wrist to his brow lightly, her eyes roaming over his tranquil expression – she had watched him struggle, and struggle, and struggle with all of this, with how they belittled and disparaged her; she had worried for his state of mind, and regretted the burden she placed on him, and yet when they threw the worst of it at her – Han was calm, her rock – reliable, and insightful.

She drew her hand back gingerly, unwilling to disturb him, and returned to her back – it was what hurt her more than anything, the criticism they leveled at Han. The easiest way to provoke her was to go for the jugular of the people she loved – Han, Luke, the blameless Naberries, her friends, those who served her –

Remnants of the anger she had expressed earlier stirred in the pit of her stomach, and she felt a rush, a resurgence of purpose – the expressive, uninhibited tirade Han had allowed her had felt incredible – to unleash all of her pent up rage and devastation at all of this – she had felt vindictive, and wild, and still Han listened, validating all of that.

Luke had said it, and now Han had said it – it did not matter that she had prepared for the political aftermath as she had; she was still allowed to feel all of the understandable human emotions.

She compressed her lips, thinking of her public persona – of how closely connected she had been with Vader and the Empire, in these weeks of Media cycles; her worst nightmares playing out on screen as they compared her to him, accused her of collusion, predicated her fall in the future – and she took it in with trepidation, because that fall from grace was exactly what she so violently feared was in her blood – inevitable, and dark.

She thought of her father, calling her totalitarian, a stark example of how different she had once been at home, of how different she was from her graceful mother – Leia could feel cruel without acting on it, but her mother, she was sure, had never felt cruel or wicked in her life – and sometimes, Leia wanted vengeance more than she wanted peace.

You're stronger than all that, Leia – you've never acted like an Imperial, no matter how you feel – that's the whole damn point – Han had said – and Han was right –

She still – was wary of the full capacity of her emotions, though; hadn't she told Luke, explicitly, that she wanted no part of Jedi training because it required a tempering of emotions, and she wanted to be able to feel? She had spent such a long time in persistent numbness that she relished her sojourn back to emotional health, and integrating the Jedi's talent for moderated emotions with her tendency to repress herself could be dangerous – yet full utilization of her emotional range, combined with the Force – could be just as dangerous.

She had felt what it was like to wield that power when her feelings were running at their peak high, volatile and electrically charged – it felt good, selfish in ways she never allowed herself to be – it felt consuming, and omnipotent, and that was the exact addiction that had lured every Jedi who sought the teachings of the Sith.

Seeing herself so often compared to him, to Vader – their positions of power; their shared histories of at one time, both being a beloved hero of a Republic – Leia grit her teeth; why couldn't they compare her to Padmé, to her – they had just as many similarities, if this were all determined by blood, Leia had an equal chance of being as good and noble as the woman who had given her life –

Beautiful, beloved, strong – dead and defeated before her time – Leia's thoughts whispered to her, and a more sinister part noted – You must be more like him, to have subverted, survived – thrived.

She closed her eyes, tired of the doubt in herself – her future was not determined by the choices of genetic relatives; the Force be damned, she was in charge of her own destiny, and even if she were like him, at her core, she could boldly elect to be different –

She tilted her head back, eyes still closed lightly, dreamily, resolving herself – she had been cleared; she could get back on track, out of this rut – she could feel, and work, and strategize – keep herself strong – she was nothing – she wasn't him - -she wasn't the Empire.

Doubt gripped at her, and her eyes fluttered tiredly – was she?

The fabric of the night around her seemed to shimmer, and she blinked, her eyes heavy with insomnia – she felt – as if she were no longer alone; she felt that unique hum of power around her, and abruptly, she focused, realizing she was no longer gazing aimlessly at the canopy –

Awake or dreaming, she couldn't be sure – but it felt real, the way a dark, ominous mask loomed over her, onyx, glassy orbs staring down at her, false eyes in the night around her – she caught her breath, ready to scream, she didn't feel pinned, but she stared into the void of Vader's metal face, glaring up at him from her back, wondering where she was, when she'd fallen asleep, if she was twisting back in time –

– and he spoke, screws and metal seeming to grind as his head moved slightly, lights glowing in his eyes flickered, and in that deep, chilling voice said – cold, and raw, and vehement –

You are nothing like me.

Shocked – Leia's trapped breath rushed out of her in a harsh, quietly hoarse shout, and she jerked forward, her eyes opening, straining wide – she didn't feel like she'd jolted awake, she felt as if she'd – was it an apparition, or a nightmare – ? but then, her nightmares never told her things she wanted to hear –

Heart pounding, she blinked a few times, and then looked around hastily, laying back when she recognized her bedroom, the familiar moonlight from her window – Han, sleeping next to her – or

Not quite sleeping, she noticed, as a sudden wave of calm flooded her, and she settled down, relaxing back. Han shifted groggily, his hand creeping over in the space between them, patting over her shoulder, to her chest, and brushing her cheek.

Eyes closed, he rolled closer, tucking his nose against her neck, clearing his throat sleepily. Half awake, half still comfortable in sleep, he sighed and nudged her leg with his soothingly.

"Shhh," he mumbled, faithful as clockwork, reliable, and present. "Yeralrite," he said, muffled, tired.

Leia closed her eyes, and reached up to cover his hand with hers, her heart calming into a steady rhythm –

"Hmm?" he murmured, pitch going up a little at the end, a wordless question – are you really alright, or do I need to wake up – ? She knew his nonverbal communication by heart, and he was good at gauging the severity of her bad dreams

"I'm fine," she whispered honestly. She turned into him, and kissed his jaw. "Go back to sleep."

Han sighed contently, shifting his head. He kissed her neck a few times, and rested his head on the pillow next to hers, sliding his arm under her and tugging her closer, a safety net – just in case. He cleared his throat sleepily, and Leia reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, combing it affectionately until his breathing settled back down.

Her heart slowed from its jittery pounding to a normal rhythm, and with narrow eyes she stared above her again – vision, apparition? – she asked herself again – it hadn't been a dream, that much she decided; she hadn't been asleep – it had been Him, appearing to her.

Reassuring her?

She breathed out slowly, her eyes wide – then why had he not appeared to her as Anakin, as the tired, beaten old man, or the golden boy with the dashing scar –

Because, she thought to herself – you identify with Anakin; you have commonalities with Anakin –

She caught her breath –

You have no commonalities with Vader – he appeared as his worst self to reject you –

Reject her, and the clean soul she fought to keep from the clutches of the Dark Side.

Something tugged at her mouth – a smile, a cautious frown; she wasn't sure - she did not want to smile at the thought of Darth Vader invading her private thoughts, but she felt soothed.

He was right, Han was right, her father was right – Luke was right, and the parts of her that despised Vader were right; she was – ultimately – nothing like him, and any similarities were demolished in the face of the strength she had always displayed when it came to making difficult choices, and never taking the easy way out.

She turned to her side, wrapping her arms around Han's shoulders tightly, snuggling in close to him, tucking her head up under his chin and against his chest, and he mumbled something incoherent in his haze of sleep, the rumble his voice like a lullaby –

She had told him she had to be perfect, composed, give no opportunity to seem violent or harsh or similar to Vader – and in doing so, she had let them paint her into a corner of black and white morality; good versus evil, rather than shades of grey – and that was going to end immediately – from this point forward, she resolved to stop letting the galaxy dictate how she had to act in order to be safe from a connection to Vader –

She was incontrovertibly connected to him.

From this point on, her power was going to lie in being who she was, politically and personally, in spite of that – instead of allowing the galaxy's intense focus on a paltry biological framework to define what good and bad actions were.


- alexandra