a/n: finis!

** I would say there is a minor trigger warning on this chapter, but I'm also not an expert on what should be called "minor" and what shouldn't, so I'm making a note of it regardless. It's the same TW that always applies to the Identity 'series. Sexual assault/Past Rape.


Part 3:

Long Term Backlash

6 ABY


When the Galactic Senate reconvened after a customary break in session, Leia was there in her rightful seat – bright and early, front and center; brazen and unmistakable in white – a pillar of unshakeable calm, graceful and ready for action.

Though she did not sit with the delegates that represented the Alderaanian Diaspora – Leia's place was in a separate pod, as she was an appointed Ambassador who served the Chief of State, and the Republic proper – Leia wore the traditional trousseau of her adopted planet. She had chosen her attire with a deep sense of purpose – from the pure white of the fabric, to the delicate, regal gold metal detailing that lined the shoulders and cape, she associated herself with Alderaan, and with House Organa – save for the intricately braided hairstyle she had chosen specifically for this day.

Her hair was pulled back and held with a simple gold circlet, two thin lines that neatly decorated her forehead; loose twists – not quite braids, wound behind her ears and hugged all of her locks into an elaborate five-strand braid. The style used no pins, merely tucks and knots, to hold itself together, and looked pristinely messy – it was something, Sola and Jobal Naberrie had assured her, that Padmé favored, and though Leia by no means expected her colleagues to recognize it – such a gesture gave her satisfaction, and strength.

To combine aspects of Alderaan, and of her Nubian mother, together in a presentation of herself at the advent of this new Senate session – the first she would participate in as both a daughter of House Organa, and the newly-revealed blood relative of Darth Vader – it was fitting, and it was right; she wanted her chosen family represented – she wanted the decisions she had made, and the path she had taken, to take prominence, and be strikingly obvious to the press, and all those they to whom they told their story.

She had exhausted her efforts in monitoring the narrative, reacting and placating, and remaining stoic; now, in these crucial next moments – she was poised to regain command of her position.

Winter had been correct when she deduced that Leia had timed her acquiescence to an inquiry with the impending Senate recess; despite the frenzy of activity and the chaos of politicking, hardly any delegates had wanted to remain in emergency session to continue bickering over the trials and tribulations of Leia Organa – not when they were all coming out of the grueling, harrowing process of fortifying the structure of their new Republic.

Leia's chronological planning had been as complex as her political scheming – she had tried to orchestrate things so that the crux of the Media circus would combust right around the time the Senate dismissed – she had also aligned her inquiry with that, to the best of her abilities, and so the worst of it raged and swirled while the worst of her political threats were dealt with –

In moments of clarity and honesty with herself, she admitted that, despite her preparedness, the repercussions of her revelation had stifled her, angered her – pushed her towards a breaking point regardless of the serenity she strove for, and she had reached her limit around the same time she had been cleared –

And as the Senate disbanded for vacations, for breathers, for delegates to recoup, lick their wounds, murmur over and analyze what had just happened to one of the saints of the Rebellion – Han coaxed screams of anger and pent-up emotions out of Leia, and the Media was been left with a void of politics, and only increasingly stale sensationalist stories to circulate.

There came a point – and she had known there would, despite Han's doubts, and Luke's concerns – when the Media apparatus began scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to pernicious reporting; anything that could have been said about Leia had already been said – any disgraced, imprisoned Grand Moffs who could be interviewed and given a platform to spew vitriol ran out of gossip and lies – and any member of the political intelligentsia knew that once the press began to recycle the juiciest bits of a scandal, the scandal was well on its way to the graveyard – the fire, so to speak, burning down to ash.

She had operated within that turn of the cycle – with all serious governing statecraft on hold, Leia had gradually stepped back into her role as diplomat, first and foremost catching up on missed work while still being intensely visible in her Alderaanian Council duties – as the firestorm died down, she re-cultivated the relationships she had valued, focusing first and foremost on her oldest friends and allies – beings like Admiral Ackbar, men like Crix Madine – those who had not been privy to her background previously, and had harbored mild doubts and anxieties after it was revealed.

She focused on those who had always been her friends and allies, rather than diving headfirst into the swamp of people who had always been and odds with her, whether ideologically, in some way, or personally, for some reason or another, and wasting time courting those who were eager to be persuaded of her treachery.

The interim between Senate sessions by no means diminished the news cycle, it merely guaranteed less of a focus on politics – and despite how alluring the personal lives of public figures could be, they hardly held much water when they weren't able to be tacked on to certain laws or agenda, and so day by day, as there was no real new political news to report, and no new information emerging on Leia's Vader connection – the backlash of it all faded, faded, faded – into a dull, constant hum and murmur, rather than new, screeching alarms broadcasted to steal the spotlight.

The Skywalker Reckoning – that is what it came to be called, and Leia let it be so – through the whole ordeal, she had re-hashed her private battle with her bloodline, and experienced, as an outsider, watching the public cope with her revelation, what it was like to grapple with the whole thing – she supposed Skywalker was her given name, somewhere, far in the past, and so she had reckoned with it, and confronted it – it was the finishing touch on a personal journey, and she could face entirely forward now –

Entirely forward.

With her, in her Senate pod, sat her assistant Tavska, ever faithful and serene, as well as Chewbacca – still concerned with her security at Han's behest, and making a statement on behalf of Kashyyyk – Evaan Verlaine sat with her as well, eschewing her usual place at Bail's side to reinforce the Alderaanian support for Leia.

As for her father – Bail held court in his pod, the trusted Viceroy, with Carlist Rieekan taking Evaan's usual place at his side – and across the grand arena, Leia could easily spot Naboo's senatorial pod, where Pooja headed the delegation with a stern, defiant expression on her face, backed by two junior senators, Naboo's elected Princess of Theed – visiting Coruscant for the first time – and Ruwee Naberrie, who had returned to Coruscant specifically to witness what this opening would be like.

Leia gave a quiet nod across the arena to her cousin, and then fixed her eyes again on the central raised dais, where Mon Mothma's hand-selected Vice Presidents sat calmly awaiting her arrival –

The session would not begin until she arrived to authorize it, and in her absence, there was the usual quiet buzz of scheming conversation – Leia was well aware she was the center of most of it, and she took great care not to bat an eyelid.

She had been unable to comfortably predict what she was going to face this morning – there was a chance the efforts to oust her from her position could be rekindled; there was a chance it was all over, and she could move forward – she had little indication of what Mon Mothma's position on the whole thing was, and she was unsure if any of the more radical factions had been appropriately placated – systems such as Onderon and Kalzeron still found her background repugnant, never mind that it had never influenced her morality – and Imperial sympathizers still hoped to somehow associate themselves with her enough to scare away her liberal supporters.

It was, as always, a never-ending game – one she still, inexplicably, wanted to win – not for the sake of her own power, but for the power of the people.

A low, musical tone rumbled through the auditorium, and the muted conversations fell silent – in the moment the Chief of State began ascending to her podium, Leia turned her head slightly, casting a glance over her shoulder, searching the stands for her father.

He was looking right at her, his expression unwavering, and encouraging, as proud and regal as it had been the day she won her first Senate race, the day she graduated university – all her life.

That, for the time being – was all she needed.

She turned back to face the center of the arena, so that when Mon Mothma spoke, Leia was focused on her.

"Senators, Delegates, Ministers, and Ambassadors of the New Republic," the Chief of State greeted – her tone was mellow, the exact balance of calm and commanding that was so unique to Mon Mothma, and so quintessential and a charismatic leader.

She inclined her head.

"I welcome you all back to the Senate to convene yet another governing session under the auspices of our New Republic," here, she gave a small, wry pause: "We are getting good at this, are we not?" she quipped.

Leia gave a mild, half smile as polite laughs and murmurs of approval circulated through the arena.

"With small amounts of good fortune and large quantities of determination, I hope this session will see us move towards constructing our legacy as we simultaneously move away from cleaning up the past."

Mon Mothma inclined her head respectfully, and held her hand out to the left, requesting a ceremonial gavel – which was placed in her hand immediately by an aid. She looked around regally, smiled, and Leia flicked her eyes upwards to watch her projection on the large screens as Mon Mothma flicked the gavel and opened the government.

Immediately, the ring of a request bell reverberated around the arena, signaling a delegation's desire to speak.

Mon Mothma sat back, examined her console for the appropriate light, and toggled it, granting the floor with a swift, kind nod of her head.

For a hushed moment, the holocameras panned the crowd as the speaker moved forward in their pod, and Leia waited for the source of the buzzer, her breath bated as she relaxed into the aura around her and tried her hand at sensing the overarching mood of her peers –

She withdrew, as the harsh, grating voice of the Minister from Onderon burst through his amplifier, causing a brief, sharp squeal of feedback before his words came through:

"I move for a vote of no confidence in Ambassador Organa," he proposed, his voice rough, his expression narrow.

The eruption of hissing whispers was immediate, and there was silence for a moment before a flicker of speaking lights lit up, and a female voice echoed through her amplifier –

"On what grounds, Prime Minister?" Pooja's demanded coolly, violating rules of procedure when she did not wait to be granted the floor.

The Senate mediator silenced Pooja's amplifier swiftly, and turned a stern look on her, while the Minister from Onderon drew back his teeth in a snarl and fixed a cool glare on the Naboo delegation, inclining his head sardonically.

"Ambassador Organa has been dishonest," he began stiffly, "she has misled us in regards to her background. She possesses the power of the Sith and is aligned by blood with the Imperial Darth – "

"Princess Leia was cleared of corruption by a carefully selected jury, many of whom were hostile to her," again Pooja spoke without regard for the rules, her tone aggressive and calm. "Your callous attempt to dredge all of this – "

"Forgive me, Senator Naberrie, if I am less than persuaded by the biased word of the Ambassador's newly discovered," his lips drew back, "cousin," he spat, and then turned to the center podium: "Mediator, if you will please remind Miss Naberrie of procedure."

"Senator," Pooja corrected curtly. "Senator Naberrie."

The Mediator stood and raised her hands, a neutral expression on her face – before she made any remarks, though, Mon Mothma stood slowly, reached out, and placed a hands out, palms up, calling for calm, and silence.

She received it – and Leia watched her curiously, her jaw set tightly – the trajectory of her career now hung in the balance; the galactic reaction to this would define how they moved forward now.

Was she fated to be mired in this forever, her career stalled, forced to resign her position and fight for something else or languish as a stagnant player? Or would her allies shake off the yoke of uncertainty and demand that there be an end to the constant, belligerent attacks on her person, and position –

Activating her amplifier carefully, Mon Mothma stepped forward, still holding her hands up, still waiting for extreme silence. As the beings around her settled, Leia watched them project the Chief of State's image onto the magnificent holoscreens, and waited – waited to hear what she would say.

Mon Mothma fixed her eyes in a specific direction and somehow, without glancing to verify, Leia knew she was looking at Bail Organa.

The Chief of State cleared her throat.

"There will be no more talk of removing Leia Organa Solo from her diplomatic post."

The image of Mon Mothma on the screen faded to one of Leia, and she tilted her head up, as if she hardly noticed that her visage was now larger than life, the focal point of every being in this sprawling venue – and all those watching all over the galaxy.

To occupy her mind, to keep her expression smooth and cool, Leia thought of her make-up, as she looked at her image out of the corner of her eye – she had taken impeccable care to ensure she looked nearly porcelain, for this very reason – dark lashes, elegantly painted lips, blushed cheeks – there were some who found power in wearing emotions on their sleeves; Leia was infamously composed, and relished that about herself – she was from a line of women who did not, for the life of them, appear disheveled or downtrodden in public.

Despite her countenance – at Mon Mothma's simple words, her heart stuttered – through her lashes, she stole a glance towards her long-time mentor, listening, as she went on –

"There will be no more motions entertained on this Senate floor regarding a lack of confidence in, or an impeachment of, Leia Organa Solo."

When Mon Mothma paused again, there was utter silence – complete silence, and still Leia's image stayed on the screen, while the Chief of State again let her words linger on the floor, daring any to break into what promised to be an inspiring soliloquy. Though it hardly meant anything to the others, Leia took particular note of Mon Mothma twice using her married name, calling her Solo; it was as if Mon was acknowledging that in a subtle gesture of apology for all the other mistakes she'd made in dealing with Leia.

She lowered her hands, folding them in front of her demurely, and gave a thoughtful tilt of her head, before beginning to speak:

"Should Princess Leia choose to run for office in the future, galactic citizens are free to place their votes as they wish. Free to speak in the form of their votes. Free to exercise the franchise as they see fit – thanks to a costly, bloody war during which Princess Leia herself sacrificed much in order to secure victory."

Mon Mothma took a serene deep breath, lifting her head – the holos were back on her for a moment, and Leia met her eyes in proxy, gazing at the projection image.

"As it stands, you intelligent, gracious beings have elected me; you have trusted me with the governance of this galaxy – and in placing that trust in me, you have conferred on me the responsibility of diligently appointing my key cabinet members and advisors."

She looked around pointedly, her expression simultaneously soft, and armored.

"Know that I unequivocally trust Princess Leia. I have known her since she was a young girl, barely cutting her teeth on politics and attempting to reconcile a passionate desire for revolution with her people's cherished tradition of passive resistance. I was with her during the Rebellion's most dire hours, dark moments when we thought all was lost, and still she held her head high, and resolved to fight."

Mon Mothma took a deep breath.

"I cannot control the press commentary regarding Ambassador Organa's revelation. As you have seen, freedoms of speech and expression have not been curtailed, and will not be curtailed, not under this democratic government, not even when those freedoms disadvantage the so-called elite. Instead, in light of such freedoms, I will politely ask you to consider the value of a leader who has made public a private family tragedy, and with that an unsavory connection that she in no way has any power to change – who has been honest despite the threats that she knew would hang over her political career – who has set aside ambition in favor of transparency – who has stood stoic while she is berated with inane gossip, baseless conspiracy theories, and downright vile insinuations," here, Mon Mothma's pause quick, and her tone sharpened:

"I ask you to consider the value of a leader who has endured all of which I illustrated here today, and yet has not once wavered in her belief in fundamental sentient freedoms."

Mon Mothma stopped for a long moment. She was quiet, in an intimidating silence, for what felt like an eternity, and then she turned to look at Leia, her line of sight unmistakable – and once again, Leia's image was on the screens, her reaction availably for intense scrutiny.

"Princess Leia," she began firmly – sincerely. "I offer you my sincerest apologies for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I showed cowardice in the face of your unabashed strength."

Leia held her gaze for a long time, acutely aware that the galaxy was watching her. Her heart stuttered against her ribs, and her mouth felt dry – she bit the inside of her lip to keep her expression steady – she was quiet, and stunned, truly taken aback. She knew there were some who thought she had coordinated a response with Mon Mothma – but that was one thing she had not done.

The silence from Mon Mothma had been one of the few things that cut deeply, and yet Leia had tried to understand her old mentor's precarious position.

Now, she swallowed hard, and nodded very slowly – and she sat up straighter, her lips compressed lightly, and lifted her hand. She touched her fingertips to her brow, and then demurely held her hand out, palm up, towards Mon Mothma in a galactic sign of peace.

Mon Mothma immediately returned the sign, and an ocean of murmurs rumbled through the arena – and Leia held her breath, unable to look away from the Chief of State – unwilling to see the reactions as the holo panned around the masses.

Mon Mothma cleared her throat crisply.

"Should any of you take umbrage with what I have said here today, I kindly remind you of the chance you have to vote me out in the next elections – again, that coveted vote you were awarded by the battles of a grueling insurrection. In closing, I would say – remember that good leaders are a rarity; they are a privilege – and to abuse them so callously, so flippantly, for the sake of circumstances beyond their control – is a dark path to start down. It is easy to see sins in a leader. Perhaps we would all do well to consider what our own sins are before acting as a jury for another's."

She was quiet for a considerable amount of time, reflecting pointedly on her own words, allowing them to sink in – allowing them to be unforgettable.

"I hereby yield my time on the floor."

Her finale words were succinct, and so abrupt that the Senate was left reeling, as whispers and muted conversations filled the void of her powerful speech – and only as Mon Mothma sat down, did Leia realize she had been holding her breath – and she let it all out in a visible rush; out of the corner of her eye, she saw them put her back on the large projection screens as she turned to look at her father, and then turned to look at Evaan next to her.

The hum of thousands of voices continued, as Leia waited for the proverbial sword to swing down on her neck – what was next, what was – next?

"Your Highness," murmured Evaan, reaching out to touch Leia's hand reverently. "Had you worked on that with Madam Mothma?" she looked over at the other woman admiringly. "It was a thing of beauty."

When Evaan asked her if she had orchestrated it, the full weight of Mon Mothma's gesture seemed to crash onto Leia's shoulders, and she felt tears spring to her eyes – she wordlessly shook her head, her lips still pressed together, unable to speak.

The chimes of a requesting bell rang out, and Leia blinked at her tears, tilting her head to hear the speaker - was she still on the monitor? – she couldn't tell, her vision was hazy.

She held her head up.

"The floor recognizes Senator Dretta of Corellia."

Leia tilted her head towards the sound.

"I move to re-open negotiations concerning refugees from planets decimated by the Imperial Remnant – Corellia cannot handle this burden alone."

Leia felt a pang in her chest when she heard how – mundane the motion was, how unconcerned it was with her parentage, or her brother, or her family – her corruption, her past, her future –

Somewhere in her haze, she heard another delegate confirm: "Seconded."

She grit her teeth – there was something – something about it being a Corellian who steered the conversation away from her sensational bloodline and back to the real issues – that got to her; she felt a kinship with the Corellians – perhaps she read too much into it, but then again, perhaps, because she loved one of their own, they loved her, too.

Leia lifted her eyes upwards, and turned to her side – this time, away from Evaan, and towards Chewbacca. The Wookiee held out his paw to place on her shoulder, and she smiled at him – the smile was a little too much of a demand on her careful composure, and she brought her hand up to her lips, blinking a few tears down her cheeks – and though it was subtle, it was the first public expression of emotion since her father's return that reminded the galaxy she was a living, breathing being.


Under normal – usual – circumstances, it would have been a hot day on Hoth before Han took leave of his military duties so that he could clear his schedule for politics. To take leave for leisure, for work on the Falcon – those were requests typical to Han Solo, but that he had left military headquarters late in the morning, with a gruff word to Rieekan's deputy explaining he was headed to Coruscant's political quarter was – unexpected, to say the least.

Of all the beings married to a partner with significant political, social, or economic power, he was perhaps the most reticent, and the most lacking in a desire for spotlight, or for favors – known for hiding from the press, rather than seeking it – and, though he himself resented it, he caused quite a stir when he walked in to the one of the New Republic's foremost Political Houses.

For the sake of the press he knew would be there, he kept his Alliance uniform on – open at the collar, to indicate he was off duty – and barely had to wait half a second to be given a somewhat private booth on one of the upper levels.

In solitude, and without anything more than a swift, gruff acknowledgment to the being that procured it for him, Han leaned back in the plush, gaudy booth, swung his feet up onto the table with little regard to how inelegant it looked, and sat back with an indecipherable expression on his face to watch the opening proceedings of this season's senatorial session.

Political Houses were a staple in the legislative district of Coruscant; they were elite, almost aristocratic organizations that existed to provide a gathering place for those with a vested interest in the governance of the galaxy. Mostly frequented by high ranking members of political parties, serious academics, maudlin philosophers, and the general intelligentsia of the galactic core, the Houses were intensely restrictive in terms of who entered – the establishments prided themselves on class and civil debate – and were furnished with high-resolution holo-screens that projected public government proceedings in any imaginable language.

Generally, the Houses required memberships, and memberships were rabidly sought after – as a rule, family members and staff of political officials were automatically granted access, usually because they desired to lobby for their side or garner favor with the press – this morning was the only time to date Han had ever utilized this privilege, and he was sure it would be the last.

He was well aware is presence was drawing considerable attention, though no one had dared approach him – and he was also well aware that he could have easily skulked back to the Embassy, or even to his and Leia's apartment, to watch her return to the floor – yet in a rare moment, he'd found he wanted to be visible.

He wanted people – important people – to see him front and center, ignoring the Media melee, out in the spotlight in obvious support of his wife. He could not have cared less about what treaties or policy changes the Senate would be discussing – he wanted to see Leia, and he wanted to watch their reaction to her after all these weeks and months of chaos.

He did not want to make the mistake – that he felt he had made several weeks ago, when he'd kept away from the Court proceedings, sanitized his intake of the results, and been completely unaware of what had happened when Leia came home and stumbled into the shower with him.

He had been there for Leia, he knew that – but after that incident, in the days following, he'd felt vaguely like he hadn't been there for her enough. He was sure Leia had no qualms about how he had handled any of this: she had always been adamant that she had married him because she loved him as he was, that she never had any expectations of him when it came to politics or involving himself in her ambitions, and yet for the past few days he had berated himself for not spending more time visibly at her side for all of this.

He had been there at the press conference – but he had never been at her side for inquiries, or during many of her public walks during which she was pressed for attention – it was always Bail with her, or Pooja – even Evaan, or Luke – and that was mostly her doing, because Leia was orchestrating a game in all of this, and she hadn't wanted Han subjected to pressures that would provoke him, or scrutiny that would be unfair to him.

Han hadn't objected to any of that because he hadn't wanted to – he hated politics, and he had hated the political world more as it became more adversarial towards her; following the lurid accusation whispered out of a prison by former Grand Moff Luschek and shouted at Leia on the courthouse steps, he had more than once bitterly suggested she tell them all to go fuck themselves once and for all.

She fought back against that hideous rumor, though, with all of her inner strength and grace, and as Han carried on in his own work as she had originally planned for him to do, he heard one too many whispered suggestion that he must be so distant from her public career lately – lately, as if he had ever been involved in it, other than to chagrin Mon Mothma with his interference with a marriage alliance – must be because he believed what had been said of her.

The mere suggestion had him damn near apoplectic with rage, and as he did not trust himself to actually speak with any of the press – he chose symbolic presence instead.

He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, easily managing to make his military attire look as relaxed and casual as his usual vest and bloodstripes. He fixed his gaze on the holo screens, attuned to the screen closest to his viewing box – a large, sparkling coloured image, connected to a speaker at his table; the sound came through in Basic, but the screen ran subtitles in the native language of whoever was speaking.

Unable to read Chandrilan, he had been aggressively focused on the speaker as Mon Mothma gave her long sermon; now, the sound faded to a low buzz in his ears as he watched the Corellian minister stand to speak, and effortlessly read his own native language on the screen.

It was startlingly quick, how abruptly Mon Mothma silenced the discord, how smoothly the topics of discussion were shunted towards other things – and Han's eyes lingered on the images long after Leia's countenance was abandoned for other speakers, seeing without seeing, grappling with a rough, simmering irritation at the Chief of State.

Had her diatribe in support of Leia carried the weight it had because so much time had passed, because the galaxy had its time to rip Leia apart first? Or had she had the power all along to demand this whole revelation be treated as what it was – immaterial to Leia's good work?

Han grit his teeth, his jaw set, and twitched one of his feet a little, crossing one booted ankle over the other.

The Viceroy had it in his head that Leia had coordinated a certain reaction for Mon Mothma; Han knew that she had not. Han knew Mon Mothma had expressly told Leia that she should not go public with the information, and he knew that Leia had been bothered by Mon's lack of immediate support.

He was unable to decide how he felt about her speaking out for Leia now.

Absorbed in watching the proceedings without really hearing them – he shifted slightly in his seat, failing to notice that he had been approached until –

"They let slime like you hang around these kinds of places?"

Han ripped his eyes from the holo and shifted, drawing one knee up defensively, prepared to swing his legs off the table and spring. His hand moved smoothly to his hip, and scraped at nothing – he clenched his knuckles, and immediately remembered he had removed his blaster from its usual home to carry it concealed at his lower back.

It wasn't needed, though – his fingers relaxed, and he lowered his knee a little, tilting his head with a stiff jaw, narrowing his eyes at none other than Lando Calrissian.

"Slime like me?" he quoted. He pointed sharply at his head, giving Lando a pointed look. "I'm the King of Alderaan," he drawled, deadpan. "Or d'you forget?" he asked, his tone taking on the slightest edge.

Lando laughed good-naturedly, and gave a mild wince; well aware of what Han was referring to – that now infamous photo that had so insulted Leia's aunt a year and a half ago.

Han sat forward, drawing his legs off the table, and gave a short glance around, brushing his knuckles under his chin as he looked back at Lando.

"I got privileges here, 'cause of Leia," he snorted. "You want to tell me how you swindled your way in?"

Lando swept his cloak du jour back and indicated a badge on the collar of his starched shirt, shiny and black and denoting membership in the circuit of Political Houses. Han looked skeptical, and Lando folded his arms with a wry shrug, arching his brows.

"Economic politics," he said coolly. "I got lobbying interests with some Senators, and business interests with gas miners," he reminded Han.

"Ah, yeah," Han grunted. "You're legitimate these days – wonder why I forget that," he quipped.

"Same reason I forget to call you Your Highness, I figure," Lando retorted.

Han smirked. Lando inclined his head.

"Care if I join you?" he asked.

Han leaned forward, gesturing carelessly at the empty seat across from him. He ran his hand over his jaw and shrugged, soundlessly indicating he didn't care – he hadn't expected to run into Lando here, but he wasn't at odds with him, and didn't mind company, now that he had witnessed Leia's reception from the Senate, and had a handle on how things might proceed for her now.

He watched Lando take a seat with an almost critical expression on his face, thinking of his old friend's part in all of this – of that pamphlet Luke and Leia had showed him, weeks ago, allegedly authored by Lando and distributed anonymously – and yet other than that, Lando had been off planet, or so it seemed; he certainly hadn't kept in touch particularly well since he had attended Han's wedding.

Rather than lean forward and mimic Han's stance, Lando leaned back, throwing one arm casually over the back of the seat, his other resting lazily on the empty table. He nodded down at the surface of it, and then jerked his head in the general direction of the bar area.

"Watching politics sober?" he probed. "Kest, you have changed."

He said it good naturedly, but tilted his head curiously at Han.

Han gave him a grim smile, and waved his hand at his uniform.

"Ain't supposed to drink in uniform," he muttered.

"Weren't they s'pose to take your rank back at some point after the war?" Lando joked. "They snatched mine away damn quick."

"You gave it back," Han retorted. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "Not enough money in it for you," he added smartly.

"Wouldn't have been for you either, back in the day," Lando said flippantly, shrugging. He lifted his brows smugly, and flashed a toothy grin at Han. "You don't do it for the money. You don't even do it to impress a Princess anymore, 'cause now she's just your wife," Lando smirked, and leaned forward, tapping his index finger on the table. "You do it for the right reasons. The Rebellion restored all your honor, eh?"

Han's expression hardly changed. He said nothing – he wasn't sure what to say. There were a hundred or so things he had done for Leia, and in many respects, remaining with the Rebellion for so long was one of them, enlisting was one of them, continuing to serve in the aftermath battles was one of them – but now? There was a sense of – honor – in it.

"You're decent now, Solo," Lando drawled. "Through and through."

"So're you," Han fired back curtly. He jerked his head at Lando pointedly. "Payin' taxes and creatin' charities and," he paused, narrowing his eyes, "publishing pamphlets tellin' people who ran their mouths about Leia to go to hell," he said pointedly.

Lando – stopped short of blushing, but looked a bit sheepish, and a bit bold, pointedly refusing to comment on that last remark when he answered –

"Hell," he swore. "You mean to tell me we're both decent?" he asked, feigning annoyance. "Means one of us has got to get the old rogue nature back – and since you got the reputation of House Organa hanging 'round your neck," he flashed a grin, "I guess it'll have to be me."

Han snorted.

"You ought to go back to your high stakes gambling ways, now that I'm not around to hand your ass to you at Sabacc."

Lando gave Han a mildly dark look.

"It's always too damn soon for cracks about losing the Falcon," he griped, and Han sat back, his shoulders finally relaxing as he laughed – he never tired of reminding Lando about that sweeping victory, and Lando never failed to bristle and brood over it.

Lando gave him a narrow look, and flipped his hand over on the table, palm up to the ceiling. He tilted his head at Han.

"Both of us decent, eh?" he drawled, settling back on that subject. "When the hell did that happen?"

His shoulders pressed lazily back into the cushioned seat; Han shrugged, shaking his head. He lifted his arm and placed his hand behind his back again, rubbing his fingers against the nape of his neck – he tried to envision himself back in some cantina on some wasteland planet, on sharp alert for bounty hunters and scheming for his next move in life.

He lowered his hand and aimed it at Lando, finger and thumb extended in the shape of a makeshift blaster.

"I figure for me, the decency really locked in when a piece of shit threatened to behead my wife, and all I did was stun 'im and call the legal authorities on him," he drawled sarcastically.

He grit his teeth – there was still a fading cut above his eyelid from that fight – Rouge had been giving him something for it to keep it from scarring, an issue Han was not particularly concerned about, but Rouge seemed intent on preventing.

Lando grimaced, and nodded, his expression troubled.

"Yeah," he said gruffly, reaching up to run his hand over his jaw thoughtfully. "That was – somethin'," he shrugged. "I'd have – hmm," he trailed off. "Anyone comes after Tendra, and I'll," he trailed off again. "I ain't in your position, though," he muttered. "It'd be hell on Leia, if you took out vigilante justice, got locked up and taken away from her," he broke off yet again, and Han gave a harsh shrug.

"S'why I didn't kill 'im," he said bitterly, and Lando nodded again.

He pulled at the neck of his cape, and tilted his head, his lips turning up slowly.

"Y'know, we got more'n common than just being two old scoundrels who decided to shape up," he pointed out.

Han snorted and leaned back, bracing his boot against the table again.

"I'm a scoundrel," he said. "You're a retired thief."

Lando glared at him good-naturedly.

"What's the damn difference?" he groused.

Han shrugged.

"Winter says the word 'scoundrel' has charm to it," he drawled. "You ain't got charm."

Lando flicked his wrist sharply.

"More than you," he retorted, pressing his index finger and thumb together and miming writing in stylish, sweeping script. "Charmed a person or two with my little pamphlet."

Han said nothing, staring at Lando intently. He considered his old friend – and sometimes adversary – for a long time, and then tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing with determination.

"Uh-huh," he grunted. "You want to tell me what that was about?" he asked mildly.

He was interested to know – it wasn't that he had ever expected Lando to particularly care whom Leia was related to, but he had never anticipated him to be so integrally involve himself in the public fray over it. Lando's pamphlet may have been published anonymously, but to those who were privy to the events, it was obvious who the author had been.

Lando gave a short shrug.

"Whaddaya mean, what was it about?" he asked edgily. "You mad at me or somethin'? Think it was my way of," he smirked slightly, "sweet-talkin' her?"

Han actually laughed, and rolled his eyes before giving Lando a more pointed look.

"Nah," he said flatly. "It just doesn't seem like your thing, pal," he pointed out bluntly. "You like the spotlight," he said. "You like style – but bein' a, ah, uh," Han flattered frowning as he tried to find a word. "You aren't some – poet."

Lando ran a hand over his jaw. He grinned in his sparkling, almost predatory way, and shook his head, looking down for a moment. He looked back up, his expression tighter, more thoughtful.

"Look," he started, and then he cleared his throat, put his elbows on the table, and held up his hands pointedly. He gave a confident sort of sigh. "That's what I was gonna say, about you'n'I havin' more in common than a less than legal past," he snorted. "I meant Leia," he said dryly.

Han's eyes narrowed a little dangerously, and Lando waved his hand, rolling his eyes.

"Calm down, Han," he muttered. "I got my own girl," he reminded him. Lando flattened a hand on the table, and considered his words, his teeth clenched for a moment. "I had things turned around pretty good before you and Leia landed in Cloud City," he said. "You said it yourself – I was legit. But," Lando said sharply, "I was still a cheat," he said, "I did plenty of back dealings, and got myself plenty rich – I was runnin' Bespin, and but I could've been runnin' it better – and I cared about my own skin a little too much, in the grand scheme of things," he said stiffly.

He paused, and cleared his throat.

"I made that deal – handed you all over to the Empire – because I knew it would save my ass, and I'd promised the workers and all my vendors that Bespin was free of Imperial regulation, and I wanted to keep what I had goin' – I thought I didn't have to pick a side," he explained.

He sighed, reaching up to run both hands over his jaw roughly.

"What I put in that pamphlet was true," he said seriously. "All of it – Han, Leia stopped Chewie from strangling me because she thought they'd be able to stop Fett taking you, but it wasn't just that," he explained intently, "after that – after I took her and Luke to the rendezvous point, after the Rebellion took me into custody – when it was all said and done, Carlist Rieekan told me my verdict was up to Leia."

Lando cupped his hands pointedly, gesturing to punctuate his comments.

"She had my life in her hands," he said gruffly. "Chewie would have snapped my neck if she asked him to. Rieekan would have handed me to any bounty hunter," Lando shook his head. "She didn't. She didn't do anything you'd think someone would do after what I did – she's just not vengeful." Lando paused, and then sat back. "Or, she is, but she executes it in – the strangest, most infuriating ways I've ever seen. I mean – the Empire destroys her planet, and instead of picking off the children of officers to make them hurt like she has, she fights a legitimate resistance, and reinstates a democracy?"

Lando shook his head again, and leaned forward, gesturing behind him wildly at the screen – not even aware of if Leia was on it or not.

"That's a hell of a woman – a hell of a living being," he insisted. "I know I don't have to tell you that, of all people, you worship the kriffin' ground she walks on – but other people should, too," Lando snapped, "and that's why I wrote what I wrote, if you can't figure that out," he explained. "She made me a better person," he said. "It always sounds stupid, when people say shit like that, but in this case it happens to be true – you can't be around a woman like that and not be decent."

Lando swallowed hard, and leaned back, shrugging with finality.

"She's the kind of person who should be runnin' the show," he said gruffly. "I owed it to her."

Han stared at him for a long time, taken aback by the ferocity. His foot slipped off the table a little, and he rested both feet on the floor, just considering Lando with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, he looked up at the screen behind Lando's head – the language scrolling along the bottom was something indecipherable to him, and the image on screen was a Twi'lek – from the speaker next to him, in Basic, he caught the word – Alderaan.

Lando gave a heavy, bitter sigh.

"She's taken a lot of shit, hasn't she?" he muttered grimly.

Han shifted his eyes back. His expression darkened bitterly, and he grimaced, shaking his head at the thought of all Leia had put up with. He leaned forward and rested his elbows stiffly on the table, digging the bones into the hard surface, and Land arched his brows.

"How's it been?" he asked. "Death threats, and livin' with her old man, all the flak?"

Han bent forward and rubbed his forehead with his palm. He hung his head tiredly, gave a mild, resigned groan, and for a moment, rested his head down on the table, lifting it moments later to rub the heels of his hand hard against his temple.

"Fuckin' nightmare," he confessed sourly. "Not Leia," he clarified. "Not really her family, either," he mumbled, lowering one hand and continuing to rub his jaw with the other. "The whole - reaction," he spat, gesturing around vaguely.

Lando nodded, a distasteful expression on his face.

"Most of the galaxy's full of pricks," he said. "Bunch of beings with sticks up their asses who think they got no skeletons in their closets."

Han snorted, his shoulders sagging. He was somewhat relieved to let his guard down a little around Lando – he didn't spend much time bothering Luke with his feelings on the past few months, because Luke was embroiled in the middle of it – and he'd personally asked Chewbacca to focus more on Leia, so he'd avoided talking too much to him as well. It was easy to sit here and rag on the rest of the world with Lando – they'd always been men with chips on their shoulders, anyway.

Hunched over the table, Han shrugged.

"I don't know how Leia does it," he said dryly. "I'd have told them all to go to hell weeks ago."

Lando shrugged.

"S'like I said," he said stubbornly. "She's better than most. And if she can act like she does despite all that bantha shit, so can we," Lando said 'we' – but he implied reference to the galaxy as a whole.

Han blinked shortly.

"I know that," he snapped.

"I know you know that," Lando retorted. He shrugged. "The two of you need a break," he said heavily. He looked around behind him for a moment, and both he and Han saw Mon Mothma on the screen. "Looks like it all might start to die down – or take a different route, after that speech," he muttered.

He turned back to Han, and cocked a brow.

"You ought to bring her out to Bespin," he said, cracking a sly smile. "I'll reserve you the best suite in Cloud City – real private, real good view," he bribed. "Rekindle the romance you had there, eh?"

Han looked at him blankly for a moment, and then snorted in disbelief.

"I figure you mean well, Lando, but I think all Leia thinks of when it comes to Bespin is me bein' tortured," he said dryly. "Come to think of it, so do I."

Lando winced, and bowed his head apologetically. He looked up, closing one eye and studying Han critically.

"Er – right," he agreed. "The past is – the past."

Han shrugged roughly.

"Your debt's been paid, buddy," he said simply.

He brushed his knuckles under his chin tiredly and shrugged again.

"I am gonna take her away somewhere," he said, half to himself. "When this really dies down," he paused, and shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "I'd pay a hell of a lot for all this to just be over," he growled under his breath.

Lando nodded grimly, silent in his agreement. He took a deep breath and looked around – Han was still drawing attention, the holos were still on – it was all very surreal, in a way.

"Well, maybe it almost is," Lando said flatly. "That speech Mon Mothma gave was pretty damn good, I reckon," he offered.

Han bristled silently, his jaw tightening – he bit his tongue for a moment, his throat locking up angrily – it irked him that it was perhaps Mon Mothma's gracious speech that would turn the tide for Leia; as much of a relief as it was that this might all start to plateau, he resented Mon Mothma bearing none of the brunt of it, and then sweeping in as the savior.

He snorted.

"Pretty damn good," he agreed, raising his voice with an edge, "for a woman who should have said it three months ago," he drawled. "Ain't my place to judge, though – I guess all that Media backlash seems pretty scary when all you did during the war was make plans from a safe house."

Lando gave Han a mildly scandalized look, glancing over his shoulder.

"You know someone could hear you," he muttered. "Run that as a sound bite."

Han shrugged roughly – he figured that was his right. He hadn't run his mouth to the press at all – and perhaps he should have done more. He reflected on that again – sure, Leia had wanted him to keep his privacy, and to be the person she sought solace in outside of the spotlight, but Lando had been more public in his defense – all Han had done was –

He abruptly stopped berating himself, hearing Chewie's stern growl in his ears – if the Wookiee were here, he'd tell Han that he'd done enough; he'd just loved Leia, and that was what she needed from him.

Still – Han doubted his irritation at Mon Mothma would fade – Leia had been on the front lines of the war, she'd been subjected to worse in terms of trauma, and she'd come out just as clean as Mon Mothma – cleaner, even, because she'd fought along side the foot soldiers she gave her orders to; she did the same work they did – she saw them die, and held their hands when they were scared, and faced the ire of the leadership and the laymen equally when decisions were unpopular.

Han shrugged again, as if to punctuate his thoughts, and Lando grinned, clearing his throat.

"Maybe someone's already heard," he said under his breath, jerking his head to the side.

Han turned his head, and a mild look of wariness came over his face when he found himself looking at Evaan Verlaine. He expected her to be glaring at him, having somehow already heard he was bad-mouthing the Chief of State in an elite establishment – but instead she was giving him a sort of unreadable, soft look.

She looked at him silently a moment longer, and then glanced over at the holo screen. Han looked over, too, and saw that Leia was speaking again, her lips moving gracefully, and her face calm, and determined.

"Princess Leia heard you were here," Evaan said politely, folding her arms in front of her for a moment. She winked. "One of the couriers ran up to the Senate and told an intern. The intern told Tavska. Tavska told Her Highness," Evaan spread her hands out, and gestured at herself.

Han blinked a few times.

"She want me to leave?" he asked neutrally.

Evaan shook her head.

"No," she said softly, her voice thoughtful. She grinned, and reached into her pocket, pulling out a shimmery blue holo-film – one of Leia's quick-note documents, on which she left notes to remind herself of things. "She wanted me to give you this."

Evaan held out the note, and after a moment of amusement, Han took it, glancing at her, and then over at Lando.

Lando snorted.

"Your wife's passing you love notes, Han," he drawled.

Han ignored him, pressing his fingerprint into the coded access on the holo note – out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evaan smile wryly, and slip away. Glancing up at the holo one more time – in time to see Leia sit back, her commentary finished, and lower her head to listen to some remark Tavska made in her ear – Han read the words she'd written into the holo note.

I know you're there for me. I love you. Thank you.

Han looked at the words for a moment, and then wiped the image, tucking the holo note into a pocket on his uniform jacket – and he smirked a little, swinging his feet up on the table again, and leaning back casually –

He was here, and he'd be here when the Senate broke – he'd convince Leia to take the rest of the day, and come decompress on the Falcon with him – and hell, if any of the press wanted a quote from him, maybe he'd give 'em a word or two.


The activity in Leia's office had been vigorous since her return to work – and vigorous was exactly what she had desired. Her first few days fully restored to New Republic duties emulated the first few days that had dragged by when she first made her historic announcement – she waited, and prepared; steadily, but with surety, she began to regain her footing – and then, almost all at once, a flurry of activity ignited the beginning of a return to normalcy.

Normalcy – perhaps was not the correct word; her public image was irrevocably changed. Time would only tell if said image was damaged, or if it was just fleshed out and made fuller, more multi-dimensional and dynamic – but it was very clear, simply in the tone of how old colleagues slowly resumed business with her, that she was no longer viewed as the tragic little soldier-Princess in white who was trying to hold together a fading dynasty by carrying it into the new era.

Leia had always been taken seriously – give or take a few early years, when she'd been a newly minted Senator, and a teenager at that, who hadn't quite learned how different the galactic senate was from quiet little Alderaan – she had never been meek enough to be a background figure, directed and intimidated by others, but there had always been places where she sometimes had to fight for respect harder than others. Planets where women weren't considered valid as leaders, planets that considered her a lesser ruler because she wasn't a blood relative of her aristocratic family – even planets that did not afford her a high level of attention because she had not married yet – or planets that did not want to fully commit to her plans and treaties because they felt Alderaan, pacifist as it was, would never hold to them if it all came down to use of Force – regardless of all of the obstacles, Leia had always been mostly successful, and if not universally respected – absolutely well-known, and acknowledged to have influence.

The subtle changes now revolved around not merely who she was biologically related to, but how she had handled it, how diverse her possible influences were, and how her position of power had survived despite the absolute chaos surrounding it – personally, Leia had felt too mature for her age since the day she turned thirteen, and her mother took all of her coloured clothes and replaced them with white, tied up her hair in statuesque styles and never let her wear it down in public again - but in terms of her career, it had been in adolescence throughout the war, as she tried to find her footing and where she best belonged – and it had still been maturing, and reaching its niche, throughout these hard times after the war – it was only now that she ultimately realized her setbacks were worth it; her career was most likely established for good.

She relished the influx of activity that began as her colleagues – former allies, and some former adversaries – began to reignite dealings with her; she was gracious but cautious with them, and particularly with ones who she had been disappointed to see step back, and wait it out, rather than stand by her side, she was somewhat distant. She made a concentrated effort to illustrate that she was not one to forget her friends in difficult times, but she also infused a subtle coolness into the relationships that she intended to maintain for a bit, if only to remind them that they had been quick to abandon her, and that was trust broken that could not automatically be restored.

She had worked out a careful system to set her office back on track, pouring over it for days with Tavska, Pooja, her father, and Evaan to ensure that it seemed calculated, and also fair. Those who had never wavered were given prime opportunities to meet with her and get former projects and issues that had been on hold re-started and in the works; those who had gone politely silent, but had never been outright detractors, were given a slight amount of pushback by her office, but eventually granted access, and Leia was kind, but cool to them – others who reached out, from Onderon to Kalzeron to the more outright, Imperial-sympathizing, were treated cordially, but without much urgency – Leia was especially harsh specifically to Onderon, because it had always been a Rebel home world, and so their betrayal cut deeper than any Imperial-Sympathizing system that never could have been trusted anyway.

Luke and Han made incredulous – in Han's case, pissed off and caustic – remarks about the people she was dealing with who had been outright Imperials, who had delighted in her struggles from the beginning – but Leia, grimly accepting of the way the political game worked, pointed out that those individuals had picked the losing side in a grueling round of statecraft Smashball, and though Leia was perfectly comfortable hanging that over their respective heads, and ensuring that they felt consequences in terms of frustrated attempts to meet with influential people, she did not wish to isolate them so entirely that they became violent. Tangential to that, she was well aware that on many planets, the average citizen cared less about what the federal elite was up to, and much more about if their home, hearth, and children would be safe, and taken care of, and Leia knew that the leaders of these places would be voted out when she showed mercy, and they gave her nasty remarks and stubborn refusals to do the right thing instead, thus damaging their place in the galactic order.

She sat back in her office chair, sinking into the soft, malleable leather cushion slowly and letting out a calm, thoughtful sigh – tilting her head back, she blinked slowly a few times, soothing the dry, achy burn that had started to plague her eyes as she stared for hours about hours at holo film and her bright console, consulting endless documents.

She compressed a small smile, holding her eyes lightly closed for a moment – she liked that little burn in her eyes she felt when she had been at work too long without a break; she had missed it – it was a nuisance, but it was something that kept her determined, reminded her of what good work she was doing, and the things she wanted to accomplish – and for too long, over the past two months or so, her eyes had only burned with angry, tired tears – and this sort of ocular exhaustion was the good kind.

She tilted her head back down and blinked a few more times, gazing vaguely at her screens – her work this week had consisted of negotiating a peace between two constantly warring cultures in the heart of the Western Reaches – or, rather, setting up meetings with the leaders to begin negotiating peace – aiding in the creation of trade policies between three systems that historically hated each other, yet needed each other's resources – and in the past had taken to hiring smugglers to steal each other's resources, which was damaging the overall galactic price and causing far too much innocent bloodshed –

"I've worked that network before," Han said blithely, one afternoon when he'd unexpectedly asked her what she was doing – Han rarely asked her what she was working on, unless something on the holos caught his eye – and when Leia asked him, tongue-in-cheek, what he thought the best solution was, he answered, like the scoundrel he was – "Tell them to give the smugglers access to healthcare. I got bit by somethin' on one of those runs and Chewie sewed me up."

Leia bit her lip, smiling to herself as she thought about that conversation – because Han had drawled on, charming and seductive – "Still got the scar, Sweetheart, come kiss it – " "It's the scar on your elbow, Han," she'd said pointedly, while he gestured at his hips – "Yeah, yeah, but it hurts down here – "

She wondered what he was up to today – he had told her this morning he wasn't checking in at military headquarters, but rather meeting with Lausta and some of the other Alderaanian intelligence officers to determine if their home was safe to return to. They were both restless - and Han thought, since Mon Mothma's speech seemed to have calmed the politics a little, they might try to get everything back on order.

Even if it wasn't safe, Leia had quietly made the decision that they were going to return to it anyway – and Han would likely be easily persuaded. No physical attacks on her had actually been attempted during this whole time, and though it was confirmed that the location of their place had been leaked, whether or not it was a target was difficult to determine, as the entire population of Coruscant was well aware that she and Han were currently staying at the heavily fortified Alderaanian Embassy.

Leia felt – quite strongly - that she could not really begin to look at all this as a thing she had overcome until she and Han were back in their own home, living freely in their own space despite any lingering threats and shadows – while she was sequestered in her father's home, she would still feel as if she were hiding, trapped in a sort of suspended animation – she needed her space back, she needed to continue aggressively in a forward direction; it was the only way to keep progressing, and avoid getting bogged down in any lingering pettiness and vicious personal attacks.

Of which, naturally, there were still many – the caveat at this point was that there was very little new territory left; the worst of the worst rumors had already been concocted and distributed, the most outlandish of conspiracy theories were already out there, and what circulated now were re-hashes with tweaked details, or increasingly grotesque commentary from fringe networks or truly bitter, harmful pockets of Leia's detractors that attempted to regain the HoloNet news cycles with sheer malice.

It was, blessedly, unsuccessful in almost all regards.

Since Mon Mothma's sweeping remarks on the matter, the fire had been doused – only the true fanatics still tried to light it, and let it rage.

As for Mon Mothma – her person, and her remarks – other than her public expression of thanks during the Senate Session, Leia had not made an effort to privately thank her old mentor – and she did think of her as a former mentor at this point. Realistically, she had graduated from Mon Mothma's tutelage the moment she broke faith, so to speak, to marry Han instead of a high ranking political ally, but in terms both personal and professional, she was unequivocally Mon Mothma's equal even in the Chandrilan woman's eyes, and that was a strange state of affairs. It was not – certainly not – that Leia had ever been looked down upon by Mon, or felt as of Mon did not respect her or think highly of her, but there had always lingered a natural element of – Mon Mothma being the older, wiser woman, who could possibly pave Leia's career path for her when her Organa name no longer could – and all remnants of that were obliterated.

Leia sensed now that Mon Mothma recognized her as a fully realized equal – she sensed Mon Mothma's humble acceptance of that, and she expected the Chief of State had come to the realization that Leia would run against her at some point if it was the right time. It was to Mon's credit that she bore no grudge for that; if that time ever came, it would be a friendly rivalry – Mon Mothma had faced some introspection herself when Leia had married Han; she had faced even more, recently, when Leia broke with her own tradition and did not, as she had in the past, placate critiques of Mon Mothma, or explicitly downplay what was a clear, somewhat betrayal, and a statement of defense given with glaring tardiness.

It was true that Mon's hard-hitting speech had been poignant, and perhaps even politically strategic; Leia never could have said those things herself, it would have looked insincere and like she was cracking under pressure – or making veiled threats – and Mon's saying it after such a long silence was unique, and caught plenty of attention, and yet Leia received it professional with gratitude, and personally with slight coolness.

Mon Mothma had been one of Leia's political heroines from a very young age, and she had been hurt by the elder woman's silence, regardless of politics; Leia was a woman who had personally faced tense issues when it came to private relationship going public, and though she had dreaded certain effects on her career, she had never once let the Media denigrate Han in her presence, or make false claims against him – she had expected, at the very least, the same thing from her own close friends and family.

It was why, when Tavska came to her warily and told her that when he had come to the Political Houses to watch Leia's debut back in the Senate, Han had loudly made a remark about Mon Mothma that had been indeed overheard – and published – Leia had given a small shrug, and merely told Tavska to let it run. She made no comment to downplay it, and she made no comment to offer solace to Mon Mothma.

Han had said – I guess all that Media backlash seems pretty scary when all you did during the war was make plans from a safe house – and Leia smiled a little bitterly, and let it stand, because Han was right, and Han had done so much for the Rebellion even when he wasn't paid for it, even when he wasn't part of it, and Leia felt he had every right to take a few digs at a woman who had frequently made him seem inconsequential, and not good enough. She told Tavska – Han had earned the comment, and she wanted to let Han be her mouthpiece in that regard. Leia would not outright snub Mon Mothma, but she would let Han have his chance to do so, and her lack of comment on it would hopefully send a message.

And it had – Mon Mothma and Leia developed an understanding, though it was a tacit understanding; Mon understood Leia's reasons for letting Han speak without checking him, and she humbly accepted the critique; when asked about it, she had responded in a neat little press release that General Solo was invaluable in more than one instance during the war, and is correct that I spent much of it in the safe houses – she said almost nothing else, and because of that, Leia considered them mostly even – if only because she knew, in the future, Mon Mothma would never make the wrong move in this sort of situation again.

Brushing her fingers under her jaw, Leia leaned forward, to minimize some of the work on her console and peek at the image she was currently using as the shimmery background – she was sure Han would be mortified if he knew – yet she grinned to herself, because one other lovely thing that had come out of Han's out of character little trip to the Political Houses was a holo – soon to be considered fairly iconic, she was sure – taken of him watching the opening of the Senate session. He was leaned back in one of the luxury booths, boots up on the table, military uniform open at the neck, hair wind-swept – it damn well looked like a posed catalogue shot, and though Luke had seen it, and the captions and gawking that went with it, and immediately tried to laugh Han out of home and hearth, Leia loved it.

She specifically asked Tavska to find her a personal copy to keep.

Leaning forward to study the image more closely, her lips pursed in amusement, Leia had the obnoxious, intrusive thought – at least the Media is good for something.

She just as swiftly shook that thought off – too soon; it was too soon after all of the hateful commentary, to start giving credit to the rancors that called themselves journalists.

Things were still – settling. All in all, the immediate aftermath of it all had plateaued, and the social and political zeitgeist that would exist for Leia from this point on was – solidifying.

She took a deep breath and turned to her desk, just as there was a soft knock on her office door – which was left cracked open a miniscule amount – and she took it for what it was: the beginning of the end of her day. She sat up straighter, selected a few programs that would classify and secure all of her work for the day, and began system shut-downs – then, she lifted her head, and called –

"Come in, Tavska."

Her assistant did, neatly closing the door behind her and giving a subtle, respectful incline of her head. She held her hands gracefully in front of her, palms flat, balancing a tablet on her fingertips, and was silent for a moment, waiting politely for Leia to look up from her consoles.

Leia did, and offered her a calm smile.

"Summary time, is it?" she asked.

At the end of each week, Tavska provided a concise summary of what important events that had taken place – whether they be appearances she had agreed to, treaties she had achieved, or particularly significant Senate achievements that she was privy to. Tavska also compiled a list of things she may have missed, issues of lesser importance that Leia still needed at least a working knowledge of. It was one of Tavska's most invaluable services, and Leia rather looked forward to it.

Even more so now, as it was the first summary Tavska would give her that was not wholly consumed with slander, gossip, and libel.

"A custom I am eager to resume," Tavska said smoothly, her lips turning up slightly. "Shall I begin?"

Leia leaned back and waved her hand, nodding solemnly – and Tavska cleared her throat.

"Major advances of note include: the reopening of the Senate for the final session of the year; The Chief of State's statement of support in your favor, which disallows further motions to remove you if such motions are rooted solely in dissatisfaction with your relationship to Vader – re-certification of the military fleet contract with Mon Calamari builders, as well as significant progress in the debates regarding by whom scientific ethics laws will be written – the Senate voted to recognize dual citizenship in the case of Alderaanians wishing to settle permanently on new homeworlds, and sole Alderaanian citizenship of those who want to settle on Yavin, when the time comes – "

Tavska continued in her soothing, mellow voice, illustrating what had happened over the past week – in many ways, nothing monumental had occurred; in terms of the weeks Leia had weathered in the past, this one was mild – but it meant so much, because it reflected a resurrection of her power to act, to be a part of the machine – to do her job, instead of try to keep her head above tarnishing waters.

"On an interesting note, a private charity firm on Naboo quietly donated a sum of money to the efforts in building the Haven on Yavin," Tavska murmured. "There's a memo notating that though they are aware the Organa coffers are more than enough to fund the project, the Botanical Society of Theed would like to provide its own finances for a monument to Queen Padmé Amidala," Tavska paused, forwarding the memo to Leia's accounts. "The request specifies that the late queen was a champion of conservation during her reign, and Naboo would be honored to have her remembered as your mother and a warrior against the Empire in a memorial to Alderaan."

Leia blinked in surprise. She inclined her head.

"Of course," she murmured. "I'll make the necessary overtures to Rouge and put Pooja in touch with the appropriate financiers – that's lovely," she said slowly, unsurprised by Naboo's charity, but touched all the same.

"The very last point I have here regards Lausta and Miss Verlaine's investigation into Imperial archives," Tavska said neutrally. "Pursuant to Grand Moff Luschek, and his remarks."

Tavska's voice remained level, and yet because she knew her so very well, Leia detected a subtle disgust in the way she said remarks – and the almost invisible sneer that flitted across her lips as she closed them, and waited a moment.

Leia sat forward, compressing her lips. She leaned stiffly on her elbows, and waved her hand again, more heavily this time. She dipped her head grimly.

"There are false records," she guessed – a statement, not a question.

Her mouth felt dry for a moment, and she lost herself in a split second of horror – and how long before some foe dug them up and released them, and the galaxy could read lurid notes about her captivity –

Tavska shook her head simply.

"No, there are not," she answered, and Leia's lips parted in genuine surprise. Tavska let her words sink in for a moment, and then went on: "Lausta and Miss Verlaine, with the help of the small team of female intelligence officers you assigned, could find absolutely no written record, anywhere, that detailed your presence on the – Death Star – or in any type of prison. Lausta concluded that anything Luschek 'knew', he learned by word of mouth, or conceived of out of spite."

Tavska fell silent for a moment, and then folded her hands up fluidly, tucking her tablet against her leather vest, and inclining her head in a little bit of triumph.

"For once, it appears the Imperial penchant for outright lies and misinformation will help you breathe a little easier," she murmured. "Your imprisonment was so politically contentious, that any mention of you lists you as having died on Tantive IV in the so-called accident."

Her lips quirked up wryly.

"There are even a few notes that insist the Princess Leia who kept popping up with the Rebellion was a very uncanny imposter."

Leia swallowed hard, bowing her head for a moment, her lips moving in a silent prayer of relief. It was not so much – record of her violation, that she feared, but a doctored record, something that would seem like proof of what she had been accused of, and that would tear at her and shred her until she forced herself to discuss the reality, and at that point –

She shook her head, looking up.

"Thank you, Tavska," she said quietly, lowering her arms and folding them over each other as she leaned forward. "Thank you," she said again, mouthing the words rather than audibly speaking them.

Tavska inclined her head again.

Leia sat back in her chair thoughtfully, and ran a hand back through her hair, smoothing escaping strands back into the simple tiara braid she had conceived for the day. She was fading back into her thoughts, vaguely aware of Tavska turning to go – when Tavska spoke again, her voice quiet in the silence, and Leia was almost startled to realize the Togruta was still standing there.

"Your Highness," Tavska began in a humble, but sturdy, tone. "May I speak to you personally, one female to another?"

Taken aback, Leia straightened a little her attention sharpening. Tavska was unwavering in her professionalism, so competent and loyal, and because of that, Leia rarely considered her just an employee, but rather a safeguard who existed in the workplace – she was startled, she supposed, that Tavska felt the need to ask to speak informally.

She started to wave her hand, and then paused, deciding that would seem aristocratic, and insincere. Instead, she nodded, her expression softening.

"You needn't ask, Tavska," Leia assured her quietly. Her brow furrowed.

Tavska nodded. Still, she was quiet for what felt like an eternity, her eyes canted just so – in silent reflection, she wasn't quiet looking directly at Leia, until suddenly she was, and her expression was calm, but fierce.

"It happened to me as well," she said candidly.

She paused, and Leia looked at her, unblinking.

"You remember my history?" Tavska asked.

Leia gave a silent nod – she did. Tavska had been a brilliant linguist, which an Imperial officer discovered when she pled with him in his native tongue, asking that her village be spared. He had not spared her village, but had enslaved her as a translator – she had spied for the Rebellion, been caught, and subjected to scientific experimentation in the Empire's Non-Human laboratories.

Throughout it all, she had never once betrayed a Rebel secret, and for that Leia had hired her without an interview.

"The officer who stole me from my village kept me protected, in the warped way that Imperials kept their lesser beings protected," Tavska said coolly. "When I was sent to the experimentation camps," she paused. "I was raped immediately."

Leia tilted her head imperceptibly, her gaze unwavering. She sat forward and placed her palms on her desk, flattening them gently. She knew enough from her own experience to sense that Tavska was not done speaking – and Leia would not interrupt until she was finished.

Tavska gave a detached incline of her head.

"He was a human male," she said artlessly. "It always struck me as strange," she went on, her lashes fluttering, "that the Imperials – they so hated non-Humans, were so convinced of our inferiority; they did not want to share the galaxy with us equally, they did not want us," she fell silent heavily, and blinked, her eyes still on Leia's, "but they had no qualms with my non-Human pussy."

Leia almost flinched. She hadn't – quite expected the vulgarity, but she supposed other females coped differently. She struggled with the mortified chill that ran down her spine, and her lips parted dryly – she stared back at Tavska.

After a moment, she gave a small shake of her head.

"Those men are not human," she said softly. "They lack something. They lack," she fell silent, unsure what words to use. She put her hand up to her temple, and curled her fingers, gesticulating. "Males," she corrected, "who – human, or other," she fumbled off. "They are lacking some – compassionate spark."

She flushed, because she felt it was one of the most ineloquent things she had ever said.

Tavska's shoulders remained set, her expression poised.

"I wanted you to tell you," she said calmly. "I assure that when I heard what was said," she pressed her palm to her heart, "I understood the reality. As did any other being that had been subjected to the same. Not a single person who has been held down by Imperial hands…thought you were willing."

Leia looked back at her for a long time. She was speechless, but not unhappily so – she felt a kinship, and then she felt a strange relief, and she felt sadness. She took a deep breath, and nodded.

She bit her lip for a moment.

"I felt like they were killing me," she said softly, "with their bare hands."

She had said something similar once, to Han, and he had pressed his lips to her forehead and hugged her gently, but Tavska looked back at her, tilted her head to the side, and with utter and complete understanding, said:

"Yes," with a little nod. "So did I."

Leia sat back in her chair heavily, feeling somewhat as if she had lost her breath. She took a moment to catch it, lowering her lashes, and when she looked up, Tavska was giving a polite bow, and starting to excuse herself. Leia caught her breath sharply suddenly, and sat forward, gripped by curiosity.

"Tavska," she called. "Tavska," she added, more thoughtfully, when the Togruta turned around expectantly.

Leia hesitated, thinking of her conversations with Han – You're not the only woman – and Tavska's other words – not a single person who has been held down by Imperial hands –

"Do you think I should have spoken out?" she asked – she sounded harsh, but she didn't mean to; her intent was clear. "Tavska," she said again, "does it make you angry that I haven't confirmed – it?"

Tavska blinked solemnly a few times, her lips pursed. She seemed deep in thought, her brow quizzical, and then sighed softly.

"Your Highness," she asked kindly, "would it have made you feel any better?"

Leia's lips moved soundlessly for a moment. She brushed her mouth with her fingers, shrugging almost to herself.

"No," she answered finally, very self-aware of that – no, for all the reasons she'd told Han; because then it became everyone's narrative, everyone's story to comment on, to ask about – it became necessary for her to soothe others about it – it just was not what she wanted.

Tavska nodded.

"I think females are different," she said solemnly. "I think healing is a unique process. Pardon me for saying this, but knowing the same thing happened to you does not make me feel better, or worse. It does not ease my pain. In some ways, it makes me feel powerless. In other ways, it makes me feel connected."

She fell quiet again.

"If you are asking if I think you are obligated to lead a therapy group, or share your pain to comfort others, my answer is no," she said, honest and unflinching.

"You don't think it's selfish for me to pretend it never happened?" Leia pressed quietly – she often wondered if that's what she was doing; the accusations leveled against her were argued against by some well-meaning supporters who suggested – clearly, the Princess was forced, the other idea is preposterous – and yet still, she said nothing –

"I do not think that is what you are doing," Tavska said bluntly. "I do not see it that way."

She started to say something else, hesitated, and then fell silent. She nodded, as if to emphasize her words.

"I'm not ashamed," Tavska said tiredly, "but I do not want to constantly relive what happened in a narrative for others as if it will siphon off the edge, piece by piece. It won't."

She clasped her hands.

"I think you understand."

Leia nodded, breathless – she did, all to well.

"Do you have someone there for you?" Leia asked.

Tavska smiled a little.

"Yes," she said firmly, "and she has endlessly rescued me."

Leia smiled, her shoulders dipping with relief. Tavska gave a small smile, and then lifted one shoulder.

"Before I take my leave, Your Highness, if I may suggest a tactic – these members of the press who continue to harp on this story? Who relentlessly pursue it? Revoke their organization's private privileges to you."

Leia looked startled, and then wary, and Tavska interlaced her fingers, bowing her head humbly.

"It is not an injunction against their speech," she argued, before Leia could shoot her down, "our provisions for free speech prevent imprisonment, not private consequence. If you simply but politely began to withhold elite invitations to your restricted events from the Media outlets who give credentials to these journalists, they would lose invaluable access to you and the problem would remedy itself."

Leia's brows went up thoughtfully, and she tapped her lower lip with her nail, looking at Tavska for a long time. She ran her tongue along her lip, biting down tightly, and nodded.

"Shrewd," she remarked – and managed to convey her gratitude, at Tavska's strategic suggestion, and her respect for everything else she and Tavska had just shared – and without a word, the two women parted – Tavska, to begin her end of week off days, and Leia, to sit a few moments more in her office, pensive – and peaceful.


It hums.

That was what Leia had said when Luke asked her how this place made her feel; the first and only time she joined him in these ruins.

It hums. It feels – alive – she had said, right before sitting with him in the midst of the abandoned rubble and destruction and taking her inaugural steps in meditation.

She had been right – she had a knack for describing things, whether she described them with sophisticated eloquence, or layman's simplicity: she had such a particular talent for illustrating things with words.

The old Jedi Temple hummed around Luke now, quiet and soothing, attuned to the Force and bursting at the seams with forgotten stories of its one-time inhabitants – of their triumphs, and their tragedies. He had made no move to start restoring this sacred place; he had yet to decide if this was where he would eventually seek to reincarnate the Jed Order –

Reincarnate was not an appropriate word for what he wanted, no – renew, reinvigorate? He struggled to define how he wanted to describe it; he just knew his efforts in teaching had to be different from the Jedi code of the past – much like Leia's New Republic, his new fellowship of sensitive beings had to be altogether different, one that sought the same good works but learned from the devastating mistakes of the past.

He had hesitated to start building his temple before he knew what he wanted to make of it; now, he hesitated to start building when news of his relation to Vader was so fresh – he did not want to frighten anyone, and he had seen fear in the eyes of many around him who knew of his power, who had heard stories of the might Force, and who suffered still from the after effects of a galaxy run by the Dark Side.

He twisted the tip of his boot into the charred stone and metal at his feet – rubble, perhaps, was not the best foundation for a new beginning – and yet, there were plenty of fresh starts built out of ash – and he tried to find a happy medium between integrating the past into the future, and obliterating the past, leaving no trace – and risking a cyclical downfall.

Meditating lazily, his legs crossed in a familiar, monk-like configuration, Luke's lashes fluttered as he absorbed himself in the humming ruins – and he focused on another sound, the faint sound of boots thumping methodically on stone and gnarled metal – Mara, somewhere in the catacombs of this ruined place, leaping and exploring – excavating.

Be still and meditate with me – he had asked, and Mara, restless as ever, disappeared to investigate this place he had told her about – It's a tomb, a living mausoleum to the old Order, she murmured, her interest much more galvanized than she would admit – Archeological nerd, he called her – ecclesiastical bore, she responded smoothly.

Luke smiled to himself, he opened his eyes to call out to her, and found he was not alone.

The discovery did not startle him. He merely furrowed his eyebrows slightly, the way one might do if they found their shoes in the wrong place one morning, and could only vaguely remember moving them. He tilted his head, his exes fixed on the luminescent blue figure shimmering before him – existing, but not existing; present only by the grace of the living Force, and nothing more.

"Father," Luke greeted calmly.

Anakin Skywalker bent forward at the waist, legs crossed in mimicry of the way his son sat. He gave a grimace of greeting, rather than a word, or a smile, and Luke felt the effort it took for him to be here – Luke was reminded of the limited discussion he had with Leia about her experience with Anakin at Varykino.

This was the preternatural visage she had described – not solid, not confident, a conglomeration of the young, impassioned Jedi, and the decaying, aged Sith – Luke considered him intently in silence, unsure if he had expected him or not.

"I will not interfere long," the specter offered, the voice gravelly and unassuming.

Luke leaned forward with quiet earnest, flattening his palms to his knees.

"I don't consider it interference," he answered, and snorted quietly. "I've been seeking guidance. Asking for it – from Ben, from Yoda," he paused, "even from you."

Anakin looked up, meeting his son's eyes across the many planes of existence, and smiled, his scarred face still grim, but brighter – the expression of delight was genuine, and Luke felt eerie, as he always did, when he saw a smile on the lips of the man who had been Darth Vader.

"You are one of the living," Anakin said, his brow ticking up pointedly. "As each day passes, you are less interesting to those who have fused with the Force – less significant, less real."

"You're saying Ben and Yoda have already forgotten me?" Luke quipped.

"Consider it a vindication, my son," Anakin answered quietly. "You no longer need their tutelage."

Luke turned is hands over, palms up, and curled his fingers inward as if grasping at something.

"I feel like I need it, Father," he said hoarsely. "I can barely begin to conceive the depth of their knowledge – of the ancient knowledge of the Jedi, and where can I start if I hear only silence from my elders?"

The image of Anakin Skywalker wavered, shuddering – glittering darkly for a moment, as if ripped down the middle, and then solidifying, reclaiming the space he needed to occupy for a short time.

"Elders have wisdom," Anakin sighed heavily. "Elders have inflexibilities, as well," he added, and fell reflectively silent, while Luke watched him.

"I know better than to merely resurrect their Order as it was," he said finally, an edge of frustration to his tone, "but in the grand scheme of things, I know so little."

His father regarded him with an unreadable, ethereal expression – the depth in his iridescent eyes was unfathomable, unnatural to the blood-and-bone galaxy; he was of something else now, as Leia had described him – as Ben Kenobi now was, as all extinguished souls were.

"Knowing everything is impossible," Anakin said. "Knowing too much is often devastating; the thirst for knowledge is an admirable quality, but the search for that knowledge is often dark, and dangerous."

"Knowing nothing at all is dangerous," Luke countered.

Anakin looked up, through eyelashes that were not there – through a winkled, scarred, decaying white brow.

"Find the balance."

Luke fell silent again – listening to the hum, listening to the sound of his companion, far off; had Mara sensed the additional presence, were those footsteps of hers lingering far away, out of respect, or was she grappling her way back to him, curious, interested?

Find the balance.

Shackled in penitent purgatory, Anakin Skywalker imparted the wisdom he had learned over his limited time being cleansed for his sins – Luke studied him, and drew on his past conversations with Leia – he said he was sentenced to confront those he had injured, to purge the dark side before he found peace in the light – in his redemption, he was being served justice, and the things he said – to Leia, and to Luke, were valuable, and yet –

"This is what terrifies people," Luke remarked, his brows going up, his tone light, but his expression intense, wary. "Luke Skywalker, pilot, Rebel darling, leader of a new generation of Jedi – taking counsel from Darth Vader."

He said it almost flippantly, because though he recognized weakness in himself, he had faced it before, and he knew he was strong enough to resist the seduction of the Dark Side; he knew he was man enough to turn his back on the ease of evil in favor of a life in the light.

Yet he was not a dishonest man, and he foresaw a future in which his students, eager to share the knowledge he gave them, mentioned that Master Luke communed occasionally with Lord Vader – and the galaxy as a whole, in all of the cruelty and chaos Luke had so very recently been utterly immersed in, would squash his attempts at raising a bright new fraternity of sensitive beings.

"It ought to terrify them, counsel from Darth Vader," Anakin said bluntly – guileless, and self-aware. "That is not what this is. I am a father, speaking with my son."

Luke lifted his hand, and exaggerated the stiff movements of the prosthetic, holding it between them – in front of his face, and in front of Anakin's face, looking at it, and peering around it.

"You were a despicable father," Luke remarked mildly.

"I was no father at all," Anakin answered mildly.

His image shuddered again, and a grimace wrenched itself across his face.

"This place, this ruin," he groaned softly. "It is my ruin," Anakin ran his hand along the floor they sat on, closing his eyes tightly. "Where the fall became irreversible."

"You reversed it," Luke said.

He looked down, and then looked up – all around them.

"What happened here, Father?" Luke asked quietly.

He thought, for a long time, that Anakin Skywalker would not answer – he thought, even, that he had faded away, left Luke along again. Then, heavy and tired, the answer came – simple, and yet infused with so much sordid history, that Luke understood without asking for more:

"I slaughtered the Jedi inheritance."

Little ones, the Force whispered solemnly, young childrenpadawans on the brink. Luke flinched at the aura he was subjected to for a moment – smoke and screams, fear and confusion: betrayal. It was something Ben Kenobi had never told him, something Yoda had never discussed – the purges, Luke knew of; but that his father had executed the most terrible of them –

Am I surprised - ? He asked himself.

"Luke," Anakin spoke heavily, and when Luke looked at him, the dark halo of his old helmet shadowed his human face, and Luke thought of Leia, describing this same image. Anakin dipped his head sourly. "Do not tell your sister."

Luke's lips turned down in grim agreement.

"I have no intention of disturbing Leia's peace in such a way," he said shortly – and then shook his head. "She has no illusions," Luke said shortly. "She holds you responsible for murders you did not even personally commit."

Luke was quiet a moment, and then –

"She's right to do so," he confessed quietly. "Your hands were blood red."

"Stained," Anakin said hollowly. "Unclean, still."

Luke went on –

"The galaxy knows who we are now, Leia and I. That you were our father. That she was our mother."

He paused, swallowing hard.

"I felt all the hate they had for you," he said huskily. "I felt all the fear you inspired, all the destruction you wreaked, all the heartache you imposed."

He shook his head.

"All you will ever be is Vader to them," he said thickly. "It's a miracle Leia has conceded to a glimpse of your humanity."

The specter hunched forward, spreading his hands out.

"Your soul is intact, my son – your duty to me has ended," he said. "You saved me. You salvaged what was left of a little slave on Tatooine who loved his mother, and loved to be a hero," he shook his head. "You forgive me, as my son, if you wish. You do not have to forgive me, as a living being, for the terrible acts I committed against sentient life."

Luke bowed his head, listening, and Anakin went on, his voice scraping through dimensions, raw, and enlightened.

"I did not ask your sister to forgive me," he said quietly, "that is too heavy an appeal to put to her good heart – it would destroy Leia to absolve me."

Anakin looked up.

"When you build your Order, when you lead people, when you make your way in this better world – do not ask the galaxy to forgive me," he advised. "It is too much to ask. Ask them to judge you separately from me. Ask them to believe in your goodness. But do not consider it failure if I remain indefensible."

Luke considered that, and while he considered it, Anakin offered one last piece of sage advice –

"Your relationship with me is that of an individual, a son to his father," he said quietly. "The galaxy's relationship to me does not have to parallel what you have overcome."

Luke's brow furrowed a little as he thought about it, lost in himself – lost in the hum of the Force. Leia had told him – mused – that the backlash against them during all of this had mirrored how she had raged against the truth herself, on her own personal level – irrational fear, hatred, refusal to accept – surfeits of wild emotions, and surfeits of unstable ways to cope with it.

He had been forced to learn that Leia's acceptance of Vader would never be the same sort he had; perhaps he could find his way forward if he took Anakin Skywalker's word for it, if he abandoned the notion of rehabilitating Vader's image – not that he had ever thought he could; he had only sought to highlight the redemptive narrative – and instead defined himself apart from Vader entirely.

That was the man who sired me – he could acknowledge – but he did not make me. That was what Leia had been saying for weeks - and yet Luke had always been more on the side of accepting Vader's legacy as his own legacy.

Luke looked up. He gave a subtle nod, a tacit acknowledgement of understanding – and he gained new insight, new understanding, in how to asses his thoughts and plans from this point on.

Considering his father – the fading image of his father, he tilted his head to the side with lightness, and raised a brow.

"I heard you paid her a visit," he said, in reference to Leia – she had told him, on an evening a week or so ago, about the apparition she had faced one night – the not-quite nightmarish ghost of Vader, reassuring her.

Anakin bowed his head, sheepish – could a wraith be sheepish? – it seemed this one could be.

He nodded, and Luke burst into an unexpected grin.

"That was nice," he teased wryly.

The absurdity of sitting beneath the city, surrounded by the ruins of the Jedi, teasing Darth Vader, was not lost on him – but Luke Skywalker had long ago learned to embrace absurdity.

"I would consider it a small victory if that moment gave her some respite," Anakin said humbly.

Luke took a deep breath.

"You know," he said softly. "I think it did."

Leia would likely never say so explicitly, but that moment seemed to have inflamed her ferocious goodness, and reawakened her faith in who she was.

Luke noticed the bright blue of the phantom was beginning to melt into the fabric of the air, disappearing slowly, and yet somehow all at once – and still Luke looked at the spot, his brow furrowed thoughtfully, unsure if he was really gone – he sensed Mara approaching without seeing her, and then just as abruptly as his father had appeared in front of him, the unearthly image was replaced by a pair of leather-clad, long legs, two feet encased in scuffed black boots.

Luke looked up, as Mara looked around, her expression quizzical.

"Evening, Lord Vader," she greeted after a moment – blithe, unconcerned, and Luke tilted a brow up in amusement.

"Can you see him?" he asked, incredulous.

"No," she answered, in a mild growl – she dropped to one knee, and placed her palm flat on the ground, peering at Luke intently. "I can feel his presence," she hissed. "It breathed down my neck for most of my young life," she reminded him – Vader had instructed her in use of a lightsaber, after all.

She pursed her lips.

"He used to read me bed time stories."

Luke looked astounded, and Mara's hard expression faded some – she laughed, and shifted to sit down, one knee still drawn up, her chin resting on it for a moment.

"Lu," she snorted. "Why do you believe anything you're told?"

Luke flushed, and glared at her.

"I generally expect people I trust to tell me the truth," he retorted.

"Darth Noble," Mara crooned, and Luke jutted his foot out and kicked her boot as she laughed again.

She lifted her thumb to her teeth and bit down on a nail for a moment, shifting again, and drawing three bent, rusted data chips out of her boot. She presented them to Luke, her expression unreadable, and then cleared her throat.

"I found them in the wreckage," she said coolly. She leaned forward, and whispered seductively: "Who knows what secrets of old they contain."

Luke smirked at the whimsical comment, and held them up, a little awestruck.

"Mara – how – Mara, I have scoured this place for remnants – "

"Ah, ah – no, you have meditated in this place," she corrected. She spread her arm around her at the remains of the Jedi Temple. "Discovery is not always visceral, Luke," she said smugly. "Sometimes you have to excavate, rather than meditate."

Luke gave her a dry look.

"That has to be the thousandth poetic thing you've said to me since breaking in to my apartment," he drawled. "I am starting to believe it's intentional. Level with me – you don't want to train these Jedi with me because your true calling is to be poet laureate."

She tilted back her head and gave an unladylike bark of laughter.

"It isn't a hidden ambition, Skywalker, I just have a way with words," she retorted.

"I'll say," Luke muttered, looking at the data chips in his hands – treasure, in his eyes, and he hoped Mara would be around to discover them with him, if he could discover anything on them at all.

Even if it were nothing, even if it were just little school assignments, the drawings of younglings and would-be Jedi –

"Han has been asking about you," Luke said mildly, looking up to meet her eyes. "Not that he knows who you are," he added. "He keeps asking me about the leggy redhead squatting in my apartment."

"You can tell him that I am not interested in threesomes that involve two men."

Look shook his head, his eyes wide with mild alarm.

"Mara," he scolded, drawing her name out. "That's not – "

"I know," she interrupted wryly, "but it would be funny if you said that to him."

She drew her finger along her bottom lip, and arched a brow.

"What have you said in response?" she asked.

Luke shrugged.

"Why did you answer the door when he knocked, if you aren't interested in meeting my family?" he asked instead.

It was her turn to shrug, and Luke sensed she had no real way of explaining it – perhaps she had done it because she wanted them to know that Luke had someone, or she wanted to grab their attention, because they seemed to shuttle Luke off to the side –

"Han and Leia do not neglect me," Luke scoffed gently, plucking the thoughts from her mind.

Mara tossed her head.

"You can't place the onus of our secrecy solely on me," she retorted logically. "You lied to your sister when she asked if you were seeing someone."

"You turned up your nose at the idea of me introducing you," Luke reminded her calmly.

Mara sighed.

"Luke," she said steadily. "You came looking when you heard about me from Calrissian," she recounted. "You found me. We've fought each other – violently. We've reconciled. We've studied. We've debated. We've laughed, we've traveled, we've fucked," she listed. "You've never mentioned me to them before."

Luke swallowed hard.

"I was never sure how to introduce you," he said earnestly. "I was trying to sort out my feelings – "

"And now I've sorted them for us," Mara said simply. "I could not have been clearer."

"I know," Luke said. He hesitated. "You're always harsh towards Leia," he said finally. "You seem disdainful of her, and even less impressed with Han. I thought," he trailed off. "It was easier when this thing between us was – "

"Dormant?"

Luke sighed.

"Yes."

Mara turned her head, staring off at nothing. Her long red hair tumbled over her shoulder and laid against her worn leather vest, vibrant and wild. Luke watched her throat move as she swallowed, watched her slowly turn her head back to meet his gaze.

"She's a fucking saint," Mara said, though her voice was hollow, and not necessarily cruel - -bitter, perhaps, but bitter for personal reasons. She cleared her throat. "How would you introduce me?" she demanded. "If you did. If I wanted you to."

Luke shrugged slowly. Now? – he thought to himself – previously, he might have said – she's my colleague, my companion – now he thought he might say, confidently enough – this is the woman I am slowly beginning to consider the love of my life, though whether it will be a happy love, I still don't know –

"I'd tell her you're the woman I'm seeing," he said slowly. "The woman she smells on me."

Mara nodded, her lips curling in a sad little smirk.

"Yes, and how will that go over, Luke?" she asked, very softly. "Her brother, tangled in a romance with the personal assassin of Darth Sidious?"

Luke stared at her, and all at once he understood that Mara's caustic mockery of Han, her casual scorn of Leia and Leia's profession – was not something rooted in dislike, or malice, it was insecurity – pure and raw, it was insecurity.

She did not want to be hated by people Luke loved – and she did not want to be one half of an ultimatum he might given, because she had very little faith she would win against his twin sister.

Luke nodded thoughtfully.

"You aren't that woman anymore, Mara," he said solemnly.

She bared her teeth, her eyes bright, and guarded.

"I am not some angelic defector who saw the error of my ways and turned my back on the Empire," she said tersely. "I was not a penitent Imperial – I was one of them, and when the Emperor died, I became a mercenary – I've fought against the Rebellion, and the New Republic – "

"For sustenance and survival," Luke remarked mildly.

"Luke, I never rigorously questioned the part I was playing for the Empire," she said harshly. "I never rejected it while it existed – there is something to be said for Vader actively redeeming himself at the expense of his own life, even if it was miniscule in the grand scheme of his atrocities, but me?" she touched her chest roughly, pressing her palm flat against her heart. "I quit the Empire because it fell. Leia Organa Solo lost everything refusing to submit."

Mara shook her head.

"That woman is going to hate me."

Luke sighed heavily.

"Her father was Darth Vader," he said. "She knows a little about the complexity that lives in people."

"He was family," Mara said curtly. "Whether Leia likes it or not, he was family. You are family. When she accepts Vader, it is because she must – or be at war with herself. When she accepts your peace with Vader, it is because she loves you – and people make exceptions for family; people do things for family that they would never do for a stranger."

"Leia is not one of those people," Luke said.

"Everyone is, Lu," Mara said huskily. "Even if it is subtle, it is a universal truth."

She sighed, and pushed her hand back through her hair, resting her chin on her knee for a moment. She lifted her head, and went on, carefully:

"You could choose a woman who doesn't have the past I have, who doesn't give Leia another hideous storm to grapple with," she said. "She'll wonder why you didn't."

That made Luke smile.

"She might wish I had," he said, "but of all people, Leia understands that these kinds of feelings are not a choice. She could have chosen someone who didn't put her at odds with all the political elite, and her family – and Mon Mothma constantly asked her why she didn't."

Luke shrugged simple.

"She told me once she'd have chosen Han over her father," he confessed quietly. "I have faith in Leia's love for me," he said. "If she knows you're important, she'll make an effort. She's not selfish. She knows my happiness can't be compromised by her discomfort – we've had this issue before."

Mara let out a breath, her teeth set together neatly. She looked skeptical – but admiring, and she smiled a little.

"She wore white dresses her entire life," Mara muttered. "You think she'll ever understand how grey I will always be?"

Luke arched his brows.

"You might have to talk to her, Mara," he said simply. "Talk to her like you talked to me. Give her insight into who you are."

He shrugged.

"I never got the impression Leia liked her white that much, anyway."

Mara tilted her head, and smirked, shaking her head. She unfolded her body, and leaned back on her elbows, stretching out – ankles crossed, she placed them in Luke's lap, and tilted her head back, hair brushing the ruined floors they sat on.

Luke watched her, reaching up to rub his jaw—the breakthrough in his relationship with Mara, its evolution from what is this to - this is it – was an bright spot that had come out of the fallout of Leia's revelation; so, to, was the knew outlook he had on his mission in rebuilding the Jedi Order.

He could only hope that as time passed, the galaxy found itself able to reckon with the shadow of the Vader in the same way his children had.


The havoc that descended following Leia's revelation – henceforth immortalized as The Skywalker Reckoning - had at last reached its plateau; in her private thoughts, Leia had ceased to use the term backlash to describe her state of affairs, and migrated towards a gentler word– aftermath.

Aftermath, backlash – the two nouns were synonyms, but language was odd in that quite often, words that meant the same thing also carried entirely different connotations; backlash was a word that had effortlessly described the initial violent, wild, snarling reaction of the galaxy, and aftermath was one that defined a more stable reality: one that existed with Leia's familial information in it and had shifted more towards coping, rather than raging.

So it had plateaued – as Leia had said it would, as she knew it would; she had soothed Han with those words, bolstered Luke with that assurance, reminded herself of it when the storm seemed most unbearable – even in the darkest hours, Leia had known, deep down, that this would be like anything else: a savage and sensational piece of news that would bleed itself dry eventually.

Leia had been on high alert during her first week back in full capacity; she had monitored things carefully, walked confidently but demurely, set herself back on track neatly, but graciously – watched, waited, and listened, and in a quiet breath of relief at an Alderaanian Council meeting this week, had finally said the words aloud, cautious even in her certainty: I think the worst is over.

She supposed things would stand still for a while; she supposed there would still be an aura of wariness around her and her dealings, but she was satisfied with that, because she was sure of herself – and because the rumors were repetitive now, because the gossip was redundant and mundane, she had heard it all, and she was immune to being shocked.

The Media riots had plateaued, and the endless stream of conspiracy theories, accusations, and possible scandals had plateaued, because there had never really been anything to find, and there was nothing left to concoct out of thin air.

It had all already been done –

Personal beliefs about the whole thing had been formed – and the average being's private opinions had been solidified, and Leia knew that certain factions were now permanent –

There were those who held the tried and true old belief that all politicians were the same, that Princess Leia Organa Solo was no different, no matter what she said about herself, or what other said about her – the cynics did not quite give a damn who she was or was not related to, because even if they thought her better than the rest, she was still a politician, and a nice snake was still not an admirable one.

There were those who harbored strange, fanatical obsessions with Vader, and Sith Lore – groupies, Pooja called them, with a shiver – pockets of humans who had hero-worshipped the shadow Vader was, and transferred some of their eerie fascination to Leia – they liked her, but they wanted to stalk her, wanted to twist her into some female rendition of their rock star villain – harmless, mostly, but weird all the same. Leia thought them the most unanticipated in terms of how people would react – privileged, in that they could have a sub-cultural, spooky obsession with Vader only because as humans, they were relative safe from Imperial persecution. They were ignorable – fringe groups.

There were those who were merely gossips – eager to hear anything prurient about a public figure, not necessarily willing to believe it, but dying to talk about it, and those beings could be somewhat malicious, in a maddeningly innocent way – they fueled the Media mud-gathering, and ensured the drivel kept being cranked out merely because it was eagerly consumed – but they were people who were as quick to drop a rumor as they were to pick it up – one shiny thing to the next.

There were those who lived their lives, oblivious to the powerful elite, who might have asked who the hell Princess Leia was, anyway, and demanded to know when the price of bread was going to go down in their villages.

There were those who wanted Leia out of power – and who had always wanted her out of power, and so the revelation was not necessarily something that had changed their minds about her, or triggered their hatred; it was something they could capitalize on and use, at least for a time being – they were cruel, and vicious, and always had been, and Leia could hold her own with them now just as easily as she did when the had to find more contrived reasons to hate her.

There were those who just did not like her, and liked that she had an unsavory connection to trouble her.

There were those who had been shocked, felt betrayed, and yet after shaking off the relative concussion they had received from hearing the news, had shrugged off the notion that Leia was any different, and eased back into the habit of working with her, because she hadn't changed, and she was still the same woman they had liked beforehand.

There were those who hadn't believed the bit about Vader at all, and funnily enough, wrote it off still as just another wild political rumor.

And there were those – of course, there were those, who loved her no matter what, regardless of her blood or her background; and those were not, as she had first assumed, just close friends and family – she had come to find that more than one colleague, though perhaps safely silent at first, for fear of their own career, had never been shaken by the announcement, and had perhaps had reactions only slightly different than Han's – which was to say, a short grimace if dismay at the idea, but no real change in their opinion of her.

Leia neatly catalogued the different veins of reaction, both in the quiet corners of her mind, and in succinct, classified files that she kept for her records – having it all sorted out in holos before her educated her logically, and helped her in reflecting on her image, and deciding how to go forward – something she felt like she had been doing for months on end now.

She felt like she was coming to the end of – years of soul-searching, finally coming to the point where she was taking steps that were entirely her own, rather than guided by her Mother's regal inspiration, her father's clandestine endeavors, the Rebellion's complex needs – Vader's shadow. She had found small victories in self-awareness and independence time and time again in the past years – marrying Han and snubbing any notion of her body as a commodity was one of them – but now, she felt triumph on the horizon.

She had seen to the deconstruction of the Empire, she had seen to the reconstruction of democracy, it's stabilization; she had reconnected with a family she never knew, and that never knew her, and she had faced her demons – and then forced the rest of the world to confront them, too.

Leia felt – somewhat like all major stumbling blocks to her future were obliterated – as if the challenges of a difficult, painful past were placated, and the way forward was unknown, and all her own.

She felt relief, and she felt seized with a fierce pride – she had been transparent in spite of the heartache, she had come to terms with herself and her past, and there was no more hiding, no more fear.

The vehemence of it all was over, the threat felt conquered – and today, today she had left her office, stepped into her sleek, modest little speeder, and flown it home – home, her home; not the Embassy, not the Crown Princess's suite at the Residence –

Home.

Han had already been off of work – and there was a youthful giddiness in the way she burst through the door, a smile already pulling at her lips – their address was relatively public now, that much was confirmed, but it had not been burdensome yet – and regardless, Leia felt safe here.

There was such simple joy in slipping her hand over the access pad for her own apartment, hearing the door shut behind her with a snug swish, breathing in the familiar, distinctive scent of one's own home – in her case, Corellian spice, dry whiskey, grease, fresh pears, Arallute petals –

And even better was Han waiting there, shirtless and barefoot and giving her one of his cool, roguish smirks, dramatically lounging on the living room sofa – Hey, welcome home, Sweetheart – where their doors locked, and they were all alone, had each other all to themselves – it reminded her of when they first moved in, and all Han wanted to know where he should take her first, to christen the place.

This evening, he pulled her onto the floor with him, laughing in her ear at her little shriek of protest – You can be as loud as you want, Your Worship – Han, the carpet – carpet burn, oh, Han – he pulled her closer, and kissed her harder, and somehow the treat of reclaiming their solitary little penthouse made her feel like a new bride again, though she supposed they were still newlyweds, having not been married a year yet.

Such a year – such a year.

Stimulated and sated all at once, Leia lay back on the sofa next to Han, both of their legs propped up on the kaffe table. She leaned back into the cushions behind her, head tilted back a little, her eyes on the holo in front of them – the volume was quiet, but sufficient; Leia had turned it on when they were done scandalizing their carpet, while Han fixed two glasses of whiskey and brought her a shirt to pull on over her bare skin.

She brushed her toes together idly and Han nudged her ankle with his shin, his legs aligned next to hers. He shifted a little, half on his side, pressed next to her with his shoulders hunched down a little farther, his hand running over her thigh and her abdomen, his lips brushing her shoulder, and occasionally the side of her breast through her thin t-shirt.

He had pulled his trousers back on, but they were unfastened, and one of the pant legs was rolled and hiked up on his leg, a fashion statement he chose to ignore – it kept moving higher every time he shifted for comfort, and moved closer to Leia – silently, she reveled in the attention, drew quiet strength from it.

Next to her, he felt so relaxed – every muscle in his body seemed soft and calm, and she could not remember when Han had last been this relaxed; certainly not since all of this had started. She supposed she was relaxed as well – and she smiled a little at her choice to turn the holo on, when she ought to turn it off and turn to Han – she glanced over at the doors of their balcony; it was near sunset on Coruscant.

She reached over and threaded her fingers through Han's hair, her eyes on the holo – she watched it placidly, neutrally – it was a harmless program, one of the political rundowns of the week. She always watched it – part of being back in her routine was watching it, and now that – now that she and Han were home, it could all really be over

The daily recap droned on – Leia watching, Han listening with one ear while he lavished physical attention on her, subtly trying to remind her he was more interesting than the news.

this was actually the first time Viceroy Organa has appeared in official capacity with his daughter since the Skywalker Reckoning – of course, Ambassador Organa was met with her usual crowd of reporters, after which the Viceroy appeared to be consoling her; no word on what was said to upset the Princess …

Han pulled away suddenly and sharply, giving Leia's profile a narrow look.

"What upset the Princess?" he asked, alert – he hadn't heard anything. Leia hadn't even been subdued, or acting strange, and he had been so aware lately, so focused on paying attention to her world, and being attuned to it –

Leia sighed, and tossed her head a little, waving her hand at the screen.

"Father wasn't consoling me," she dismissed in a murmur. "I was," she paused, and sighed. "I was alright," she said honestly.

Han tilted his head at her, glaring mildly, and Leia relaxed more, tilting her head him.

"You want to hear what was said," she guessed.

"Yes," he grunted indignantly, with a few pointed blinks.

"Hmm," Leia sighed. "Well, I was asked again if you and I have any interest in children," she revealed.

Han nodded - typical enough; Leia never answered it. Her response was always the same – I don't comment on my or General Solo's personal lives. Come to think of it – that particular obnoxious question had been shunted aside in light of all the Vader stuff; Han hadn't heard her make a snide remark about it in a while.

Leia bit the inside of her cheek for a moment.

"Before I could get my patent answer out, another reporter asked," she paused, and then shook her head, her voice becoming stiff as she repeated it – "if I thought it was a good idea to breed, considering."

Han looked like he'd been slapped.

"What?" he barked, sitting up a little more. He drew both of his feet off the table, pushing one fist into the cushions next to his hip to brace himself.

Leia blinked, and her eyes stung, though the tears didn't come close to falling – they just mustered in her lashes, clinging there. She had cried enough lately – though she hadn't really considered the comment that bothersome, until she repeated it to Han, and saw the panic and fear in his eyes – fear it will turn me off to the idea forever, she thought.

"Breed," she quoted. "Like I'm an animal."

Han reached up, and his hand curved around the back of her head, cupping her neck in his palm. He shook his head wordlessly, somehow, still surprised by the cruelty, and stroked the nape of her neck, holding her gaze.

"Leia, people can't say shit like that – why can they say that kind of stuff to you?" he asked helplessly. He was alarmed because he knew how Leia could be on this subject - alarmed because that was something new, actually; nothing like that had come up yet, from the Media.

Leia shrugged mildly.

"I fought for their right to speech, too," she said – her stock answer, her infuriating answer, and Han fell silent, looking at her admiringly for a moment. Though she was much less tolerant of hateful speech than she had been – Tavska's tactic was well on its way to be implemented – her basic beliefs stayed the same.

Han's face blanched a little as he looked at her, and he moved his hand to her cheek. He ran his thumb along her jaw.

"Sweetheart," he said softly. "You can't listen to that," he pleaded.

Leia shook her head.

"No," she agreed. "I wasn't – it didn't make me feel good," she said faintly, "but it didn't scare me."

Han listened, and Leia swallowed thoughtfully.

"It put some things into perspective, oddly," she admitted.

"What things?" Han asked gingerly.

"Some things," Leia repeated. She tilted her head at him. "Things you said to me on Naboo."

She sat up a little, her ankles barely balanced on the edge of the kaffe table. Han let his hand slip off her cheek, brush her shoulder, and he sat on the edge of the sofa, angled towards her. Leia sighed again, and reached out, waving her fingers lazily at the holo – the volume shut off, and she looked at Han thoughtfully.

"Father was not consoling me," she repeated. "It was a hateful thing to say, but I think I needed to hear it."

Han blinked a few times, frowning.

"You needed to hear it?" he repeated.

Leia nodded slowly.

"I don't mean that I needed to hear it so I would believe it," she said softly. "I needed to hear someone else say – something like that," she said, gesturing with her hand suddenly, hands curled up pointedly, "so I could hear how – absurd it is."

She shook her head, her hands falling to her lap.

"Breed," she quoted again, scowling: "considering."

Han didn't say anything for a minute. He kept looking at her, and then he tilted his head.

"What'd you mean, about Naboo?" he asked finally. "I said some mean things," he remembered warily – they'd had several fights on Naboo.

Leia laughed huskily.

"No, not one of the mean things," she placated. She drew her bottom lip in between her teeth, and then compressed her lips calmly.

"Well, what'd I say?" Han asked.

Leia's brow went up a little.

"That I can't decide I don't want a baby because of Vader," she recited softly. "That doing so would let him run my whole life. That you didn't want that bastard to be the reason I wanted a baby, but didn't have one," she paused, taking a deep breath, "that you loved me too much for me to handle, and it needed more places to go."

Han gave her a self-conscious little look.

"Doesn't sound like me," he said gruffly, his neck flushing a little, and Leia smiled – knowing full well he wasn't denying the emotion itself, but trying to remember if he'd really actually said something so –

"You said that," Leia assured him. "You did, to my face," she teased warmly.

Han shook his head, his lips turning up.

"You were right," Leia said huskily.

She sat forward a little more and took a deep breath, licking her lips hesitantly before going on.

"I'm not like Vader," she said, brushing her fingers to her heart, "and neither is Luke – and maybe that is nurture over nature, or maybe it's not," she trailed off, and then gestured at the holo. "After I spoke with that reporter, I asked Father if he was ever afraid of me," she explained. "He knew who I was. What I could turn into."

Her father had simply said no – no he wasn't, because he did not think anything about Vader was genetic – and hadn't Luke being saying that for ages, too; that Vader made a choice?

"Willingly or not, I have let Vader dictate a lot of my choices in the past year," she confessed. "My political choices, my emotions," she said. "I'm not going to do that anymore."

She reached out and touched Han's knee.

"You were right when you said he was holding me back," she said – and then: "You usually are right, when it comes to me, emotionally."

Han grinned a little, his posture shaping up somewhat. He leaned forward, shrugging.

"Who woulda thought?"

Leia smiled faintly, and shifted closer. She leaned forward, and pressed her forehead against his arm for a moment, leaning back, and grasping his shoulders in his hands. She pressed her palms against him, and her fingertips into him.

"I wasn't always like this," she laughed. "I used to be so…emotionally intelligent," she paused, "of course, maybe we all think we're emotionally evolved until things fall apart."

She swallowed hard.

"That's the true test, isn't it?"

Han shrugged.

"'M not an expert."

He didn't know much about things like that – he did know that if Leia thought all of her accomplishments since the loss of her planet amounted to her falling apart, she had higher standards for herself than he could imagine.

He looked down at one of her hands, and then shrugged off her touch, catching her fingers in his and pulling them tightly into his grasp, holding them in his lap. He searched her face intently, his amber eyes boring into hers.

"What're you saying, Leia?" he asked. "I don't wanna put words in your mouth."

She sat forward a little more, her knees pressing against his.

"I'm saying," she began nervously. "That I – that this has all been – tense," she said mildly, "and difficult, and even though I'm back at work, my career has taken a hit – it will be – mellow," she paused, searching for a different word, "not mellow – more slow-paced, for a while," she murmured. She looked up through her lashes. "And that's okay. I want to let it be that way. I want to put my words in action – show the galaxy that I am continuing to do good, democratic work. I won't make any moves for power for a while."

"I thought you wanted to run –"

"I do," Leia said. "I will. Someday. Not now. For now, I'll … be comfortable where I am. I'll devote more time to Alderaan for a little while. I need a more intimate connection with the Diaspora now that this secret is out."

Han listened.

"It's going to be a quieter time in my career," she said concisely, "and I think…I've been thinking," she bit her lip, "we might talk about having a baby."

Han leaned back a little, surprised. He looked at her for a moment, and then brought one hand up to his mouth, rubbing his jaw gently. He nodded slowly.

"Talk – okay," he started neutrally, trying not to be too eager right out of the gate.

Leia took another deep breath.

"I don't mean talk about – talking about it," she said, her lashes twitching nervously. "I thought we might talk about when we're going to have a baby."

Han paused, his hand covering his mouth for a moment. He peered at her over the edge of his hand, and then raised his eyebrows, leaning forward. He swept his hand back down to hers, tilting his head.

"You're serious?" he asked steadily.

Leia caught her breath, but nodded; Han reached up to grasp her shoulder, rubbing the heel of his palm against her t-shirt. She let out her breath, and went on quickly, her words a little shaky.

"It's a – we can take, um, steps – in that direction. I thought...in a few months, I might have my implant out. I still need to – I'll need to see a, a doctor, because I don't know if I, ah, if I can," she stopped talking, her eyes wide, and Han leaned forward to press his forehead against hers, holding her arm tightly – protectively.

"I don't want it hanging over my head," she whispered, "whether or not I can."

She'd been thinking she wanted to feel it all out at once – she had told Han, back at Varykino, that her reluctance to commit to the idea of children was a complex reluctance, with multifaceted reasons; yet at this point, she had overcome the part of it that was connected to Vader, and some of the other parts were things that would never be certainties – and she feared waiting to overcome all of them, and only then finding out she couldn't have a baby at all, more than she feared slowly but steadily unraveling her fears, and confronting the physical reality, at the same time.

"Leia," Han mumbled, pressing a kiss to her lips. He ran his hand up and down her shoulder. "Leia, we don't have to rush. We can look into all that real slow."

She nodded.

"I know, I know you won't rush me," she murmured. "You haven't been rushing me."

Han kissed her again, and sat back, a smile starting across his face.

"You sure, Sweetheart?" he asked. "You just seemed – so unsure."

"In some ways I think I still am," Leia said honestly. "I think there…will always be an element of unsure to something like this, an element my logical mind needs to realize I can't eliminate," she explained. She clasped her hands, and tilted her head up, drawing in a deep breath. "My deciding factor is you," she said, "us," she said, looking back down. "Your words mean more to me than some – reporter's, but when he said that to me about breeding, he made it sound like my baby would be Vader's baby, and I thought," she paused, and shook her head, "I thought – don't say that, my children are mine and Han's. They'll look like Han and...they'll probably smile like Han."

She licked her lips.

"I thought of it as a reality, and not a possibility," she said.

She leaned over, bracing one palm on the sofa, and resting on her arm.

"My mother had a desperate desire to be a mother," she reflected. "I'm not certain I have that. But I told you – it's like I told you on Naboo," she said huskily, "I'm scared of this, yes, but I want a baby with you."

Han looked hesitant for a moment; he looked conflicted.

"Hang on, though, I told you not to have a baby for me, not, ah – "

Leia was shaking her head.

"I don't mean it that way – " she broke off, brow furrowed. "How can I tell you this without it sounding like I'm gracing you with a baby?" she laughed a little to herself, and then looked up. "You told me once that you never really thought you wanted kids before me."

Han nodded. He shrugged – yeah, he had, and yeah, that was the truth.

"You don't want a baby because you got married," she went on, "you want one with me."

He nodded again, slower.

"I'm not saying I decided this because you want one. I feel…like all of my doubts can be overcome," she bit her lip, "because it would be your baby."

She lifted her shoulders, breathing out serenely.

"If I am your reason, you can be my reason," she whispered. "In fact, I think that's the only reason we should do this. For each other."

In case he still felt wary – and she didn't want him to feel wary, because he had been so eager, she said –

"I want this, Han. I had a moment of clarity," she lifted her shoulders helplessly, "and it stuck. "I want it, and if you want it, and we take it slow," she stared at him, her lips parted – and breathed out.

She said nothing else, and Han swallowed hard, feeling an indefinable nervousness rising in his chest – nothing bad, nothing threatening, the kind of pleasant anxiety that came with happiness, because with every intense moment of happiness, Han still battled a vague, lurking fear that he would lose it.

He lurched forward and merely drew her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her so securely she felt like she was a part of him, her lips pressed against his heartbeat, breathing in the safe, strong scent of him. She basked in that for a long time, pressing her hand against the back of his neck and thanking him, silently, for all he had done since this all began.

She drew back, caught his lips in a kiss, and tilted her head, eyes soft.

"So," she murmured with finality. "That's that."

He nodded – that was that; that was the end of a burning question, the tail end of a harrowing few months of public obstacles – this interlude in their lives was over, and here they faced yet another brink of stepping into the new, and unknown, and it felt better than usual – this familiar sort of moment.

Leia smiled at him, and he grinned back, moving forward and tumbling her backwards onto the couch, slipping is arms under her and pinning her gently; Leia giggled and grasped at his waist, tangling her legs up willingly – the next year would bring – Winter's wedding, perhaps, the Alderaanian Haven, if all things went to plan – the next year would bring – Han kissed her throat –

She didn't know what all it would bring, but the demons of the past would stay just there – in the past.


The End


- alexandra